Through Trial, and Error
by AllThingsInsane
Summary: AU. Sequel to "The Fight." With Caleb now serving a two-year prison term for a kidnapping charge, the boys (especially Dean) are left reeling. With their path unclear until his appeal is heard, tempers flare. When they are forced to make a tough decision, what will it be?
1. Chapter 1

**Through Trial, and Error**

Devastation.

Numbness.

Heartbreak.

Anger.

Shock.

Dean was experiencing the entire rainbow of negative human emotion. It was devastating to him when he realized that, because of the actions of another, someone he loved dearly, was in _prison_, and all for something that he had had no choice _but_ to do.

As he laid flat on his back in his bedroom, his hands covering his face, he tried to _breathe_ through the amount of shock that he could feel coursing through his beaten veins. In many ways, the shock had given him the peaceful numbness that he had felt up to that point, but now, when it was ripped away from him like a bandage, did he realize just how _painful_ this was.

When Bobby had walked through those doors without Caleb, Dean had known in his heart of hearts that something had gone wrong, and even though he had _thought_ he had steeled himself for something like that, he realized he hadn't been prepared at _all_.

As another horrible sob ripped its way up through his stomach and into his throat, he closed his eyes against the mind-numbing pain, as he tried to find _something_ to occupy his fractured soul with.

There was nothing—at least nothing that would even come _close_ to easing the pain that Caleb's departure had created in his heart. The people who mattered, the people who held the ultimate power of deciding whether Caleb should remain a free man, or be bound over for a lengthy prison term, had obviously neglected to check their facts, were obviously blind to just how loving, kind and gentle he was with he and his brother.

And Sam.

His little brother had already lost so much in his short life: their parents, Jim and now Caleb. While Caleb wasn't technically "lost", he was gone to them in the sense that he couldn't be there with them physically. The unsympathetic and sadistic DA had made sure that was possible.

Shaking his head in disgust at what had happened to their family, and in such a short amount of time, he rolled over onto his side, as he searched for something to distract himself with. His choices were limited, though, and when he finally found a comic book that he had sparsely used before, he tried to busy himself with that, hoping that the illustrations and the print would serve as a tool to clear his mind of the devastation he was feeling.

"Hey."

Swiveling his head around to face Bobby, he didn't even _try_ to attempt the smile that he would have in normal circumstances. If anyone knew what he was going through, it was Bobby. In recent weeks, the veteran hunter had become a front-row guest to his random and unpredictable mood swings, and had been able to suss them out pretty accurately as a result.

"How are you doing, boy?"

Dean didn't answer—that would be going too far out of his comfort zone—talking about his feelings. Attempting to verbalize the absolute _impossible_, as he turned away from Bobby and back to his reading material.

"Dean?" Bobby said, after a moment, as he ventured further into the bedroom. "Are you _doing_ okay?"

Apparently Bobby wasn't willing to give up so easily this time. "No," he said, his voice cracked as he shook his head in the negative.

"I know things have gone to the crapper," Bobby said carefully, knowing just how much Dean _despised_ opening up and sharing, especially when it was something so heart-wrenching and serious as this. "But we _have_ to look on the bright side-"

"Give me a break," Dean said, with a scoff. "What _bright side_? In case you haven't noticed," he added bitingly, "Caleb is in _prison_ right now, and we either have to let him rot there, or we run."

They had talked about running ever since it had become a real possibility that Caleb would be given prison time. While they had all voted in favor of Bobby's friend staging a successful prison break-out, they didn't want to make such a drastic move until _after_ Caleb's appeal had been heard.

With the way their luck had continually been screwing them over lately, the odds of the charges going away that easily, in Dean's mind, were slim to none. The idea of running _didn't_ bother him—not if he had Caleb and their family safely intact.

It was losing _Caleb_ that bothered Dean the most—as he struggled to process the myriad of emotions that were crossing over into his fractured soul.

"This isn't over, Dean," Bobby reminded him. "The hearing is in a few weeks, and then no matter what happens, you'll be seeing him then."

Dean shook his head, as he brought a trembling hand up to his eyes to wipe the irksome moisture away. "And in the meantime," he said, his voice broken, "he has to wait and sit in prison for something that he didn't have a _choice_ but to do?"

If only those self-righteous prosecutors and judges knew the _real_ reason why Caleb had chosen to run with them—if only they had any _inkling_ as to the danger they would have put the boys in had they succeeded in their efforts to put them in foster care.

"It's only a few weeks, Dean, and then we'll have our answer either way."

While the idea of running, wasn't appealing to either of the guys in the _least_, they also recognized the special circumstances that surrounded their family, and knew that the only way to be truly safe, would be to stay together. Even if they had to go on the run, live out the kind of life that they _swore_ they would never subject the boys to.

"Yeah," Dean said noncommittally. "Where's Sam?"

He had locked himself in his room all day, that he realized with a jolt that he hadn't seen his little brother that day. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he looked at Bobby for his reaction, finally tearing his eyes away from his pointless reading material. It wouldn't help him, not when his brain was going a thousand different miles an hour.

"He's in his room still."

"What time is it?"

"Around six."

"Oh." He had been in there longer than he thought. "Did you have dinner yet?"

"Did I call you down yet, idjit?"

"Shut up," Dean said, trying to play along with the joke, but only partially succeeding. "What are we having?"

"I'm not the master chef like-" Bobby said, realizing his mistake before he had actually finished the sentence. Whenever someone mentioned Caleb in passing, it would be enough to completely unravel Dean.

"Like Caleb?" Dean finished, as he flipped himself off the bed. To do what, he didn't know, but he needed to get out of that bedroom.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," Dean said, dismissing the apology, as he shrugged on a sweatshirt. "Have you," he hesitated as he zipped up the shirt. "Have you heard anything lately?"

"I...did."

"What?"

"They," Bobby said, as he and Dean started walking down the stairs. "They transferred him the other day."

Once he had been sentenced to the state prison, the transfer had happened fairly quickly. The county jail, which had been almost relaxed compared to the stringent rules of the prison, was out, to be replaced with a whole other environment for Caleb to get used to.

"To the prison?"

"Yeah."

Dean shook his head. "Goody," he said sarcastically. "So it will be harder to reach him, right?"

Instead of the county jail, where Caleb had previously been housed, he was now in the state prison to serve out his two year sentence for the ridiculous kidnapping conviction.

"I don't know," Bobby said honestly, as he started getting their dinner together. "The jail was more lax where it concerned how much the...how much Caleb was allowed to contact us. With the prison, I don't know how it will work."

"So on top of putting him in _prison_, they're going to cut him off cold turkey from us?"

The last time he had been in jail, Caleb had been allowed to call them on a fairly regular basis. It had been two days since his sentencing, and Dean hadn't heard a _word_ from him. Not by his own choice, he knew, but by what the jail (or prison) was dictating he could do.

"We don't know _anything_ right now, Dean," Bobby corrected him gently. "It could be that they're just doing-"

"Doing _what_?"

"It could be," Bobby said firmly, "that they're processing him inside the prison. Sometimes, from what I know, when that happens, they're not generally allowed contact to anyone but their lawyers."

"Has anyone heard from Dawn?"

"Not yet. I have a call-in to her, but I haven't heard back so far."

Dawn, for the moment, was their only link to him, and they (especially Dean), were desperate for any updates on Caleb. Helping Bobby put the plates on the table, Dean sighed deeply as he tried to, as discreetly as he could, wipe the tears from his eyes.

"Will you let me know if she calls?"

"You bet."

* * *

It was much different in the state prison.

The rules were different.

The environment was completely foreign and strange.

The morning after his shocking sentence, he was transported to the prison that was situated about an hour from his home. It was different—the county jail had been more relaxed, enabling him to call home more frequently and converse more easily with the boys and Bobby, but ever since the guards had dropped him off there, he hadn't been allowed that right yet.

When he had inquired as to _when_ he would be allowed those privileges, he had been told by the stern-faced guards that he would have to wait until he had earned them, and then when he was through being processed inside the prison.

It was something he had had to go through twice before in the county jail, and it wasn't much different inside the prison, only the questions were. For one, he was asked (repeatedly) if he was feeling homicidal or suicidal. No was his resolute answer to each of those questions, and when he was finally assigned a cell block, he was able to breathe a little better.

At least he wouldn't be in the stupid holding cell.

And would actually be given the chance to sleep on something that wasn't a hard slab of concrete. It was still difficult though, as he tossed and turned repeatedly, trying to find a good position to rest his exhausted body, and his even more tired heart.

The prison officials weren't bad—they weren't overtly friendly—but they treated him with respect, the same way that he treated them. It wasn't their fault that he was stuck in that hellhole, and he was determined to score as many points with them as he could, so he would be allowed to call home every once in awhile.

The one strictly positive thing that was happening, was that he was allowed unlimited visits with Dawn. Due to the attorney/client privilege law, she was allowed to see him whenever she needed to to discuss his case, and what to expect in the coming weeks. Her presence, although comforting, only served to remind Caleb of everything that had ever gone bad in his life, and especially recently.

"Hi," he said, at the beginning of one such visit.

It had been nearly a week since his transfer from the county jail to the prison. Dawn had been a fairly regular visitor. Her visits was the only thing that he had to look foreword to, as he tried his hardest not to let his grim new reality seep in.

"Hi," she said, her tone softening in sympathy for the plight that her client was going through.

Over the four or five years they had known each other, they had become more than attorney and client. They had become friends, and it was a foundation that they had built a mutual respect and trust on, and it was something that Caleb was relying on in that moment, as he stared down at his cuffed hands.

"What's the update?"

His appeal wasn't for another few weeks—and while he hoped and prayed that he could somehow make it through that time, he was beginning to have his doubts.

"Nothing new, really. I tried to get it moved up, but the court couldn't swing it."

"So it's still happening, right?"

"Yes," Dawn affirmed with a nod. "Everything is on schedule for the eleventh."

"Alright. If my appeal gets denied-"

"Then I'll keep trying."

"But it won't really make a difference?"

"Unless a miracle happens."

That was sort of what he figured—as he shook his head in simple astonishment at all the twists and turns that his life had taken recently. Never once had he considered, when he decided to run, the mess that it would snowball into, and now that he was in prison, it was all becoming _real_ to him very fast.

"Do you know when I'll be able to make calls? I keep asking, and they keep saying after I'm done being processed, but that's been over for a few days now."

"Well," she said, as she avoided his gaze. "They want to make sure that you'll behave yourself first. You have to earn certain privileges, and that's one of them."

"So basically," he said incredulously, "I'm being treated like a little kid? If I'm good, then I'll get a reward?"

Her answer was the only confirmation he needed.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's not your fault."

"I know, but I don't like seeing you here."

"Well," he said, with a short laugh, "I don't like being here."

Hopefully it wouldn't last too much longer. Hopefully, if Dawn played her cards right, the new judge would realize what an enormous mistake the previous one had made, and would downgrade the charge to contempt of court.

And if he wasn't so lucky—he and Bobby would be staging a prison break-out. Looking at Dawn, he almost felt bad for her. If he suddenly bolted from the prison, it would leave her in a terrible place, and make it nearly impossible for her to mount a strong defense.

"Hopefully," she said, struggling to find the right words to talk to him with. "We'll be able to work something out."

"Can I tell you something?"

The secret life that he led with the boys and Bobby, was one that he absolutely intended to keep secret between he and his family, but if there was anyone else who needed to understand so she could better protect him, it would be Dawn.

Even though he shuddered to think what she would do with the information he was about to entrust her with, he knew that if she, miraculously believed him, he would have another, strong ally on their side, and someone who would be able to hide them from the police, more importantly.

"Of course."

"Something that I've kept secret. About myself."

* * *

_This is the sequel (or continuation) to "The Fight." _

_Thoughts?_


	2. Chapter 2

"What is it?"

Caleb sighed; even though he had always been an open book with her—this was different. There were parts of his life that he kept private between himself and his family, and hunting was _definitely_ one of them. It was something that most "normal" humans wouldn't be able to understand.

It went against nature—it went against basic human belief that the supernatural _didn't_ exist except in bad horror books and movies. The idea that it _did_ exist, that people like himself, hunted them on a near daily basis, was something that they didn't divulge to anyone except in their inner circle of trusted confidantes.

The stakes would be raised high—especially if Dawn didn't believe him—if she denounced him as a crazed fool, and walked out of that conference room in a panic. In a way, he wouldn't have blamed her if she _did_. As it was, he was second-guessing his decision to confide in her, and even though he still had a chance to go back on it, he didn't.

"I don't know how to say this-" he began.

That was the understatement of the century—how was he supposed to drop a bombshell like that on his unsuspecting attorney—and then expect their friendship to keep going on like nothing had happened? The only reason he even _wanted_ to tell her all this, was that he believed that if she had more solid proof to go on, that she would be able to effectively help him if he tried to escape, and would be able to swing things so that he would be able to stay hidden.

"Just spit it out," she said, with a rare smile. "I promise, I've probably heard it all."

Highly doubtful.

Most people didn't know the first _thing_ about hunting—and they shouldn't—their perceptions of what ghosts were, and what _he_ knew to be true about them, couldn't have been more different. It was terrifying to open up that part of his life to her, but he knew that he didn't too many alternatives to choose from.

"I don't think so," he contradicted with a weak laugh. "I mean, the stuff that I am thinking about telling you..."

He wouldn't blame her if, after all was said and done, she didn't want to continue working with him. Monsters and ghosts firmly belonged in pop culture, not in real life. For her to believe him, she would have to change her entire way of thinking, and adapt a new mindset that the world as _she_ once knew it, wasn't that way anymore.

"Just tell me," she counseled. "I swear that whatever you're thinking, it probably won't be like what you're assuming."

Over the course of her career—she had heard it all from her clients—from some of the wackiest confessions—to some of the most heartfelt apologies. The clients felt like they could trust their attorneys with their secrets, and that was something she encouraged from them.

Caleb sighed, shaking his head slowly at the enormity of the task ahead of him. There was no _right_ way to tell her. There was no easy or simplistic way of explaining the completely _unexplainable_ to her. Either he gave it to her straight, like he fully intended to do, and by some far out there miracle, she would believe him. Or, which was the more likely outcome, she would call him crazy and storm out of the prison, never to be seen again by him.

"I hunt ghosts," he put it bluntly.

There was dead silence between the two of them after his bombshell of an announcement—the only sounds that permeated the otherwise still room, were the sounds of the overhead buzzer and the different guards conversing back and forth between one another.

"You do _what_?" she asked, her voice showcasing nothing but the incredulous—ness that she felt, and the shock, too, but at least she wasn't running out of the room. Yet.

He took that as a promising sign.

"I hunt them."

"_Ghosts_?" she said, as though nothing could have stunned her more than what she was hearing from him in that moment, and he wouldn't doubt it, either.

"Yes."

Clearly expecting to hear anything _but_ that, she shook her head slowly back and forth in complete astonishment, and he didn't blame her. It would be a lot for _anyone_ to digest, but especially someone who had gone into that room with him, expecting to talk about his case and instead getting an earful of the supernatural and his confession that he hunted it.

"How do you expect me to believe that?" she demanded incredulously.

He had been prepared for that argument—and had even rehearsed what his response would be when he was thrown that inevitable question, but somehow it was different. Somehow, instead of reading off the mental script he had prepared to throw at her, he found himself responding to her in a _logical_ manner, an approach that she would understand, no doubt.

"By looking at the _facts_. My murder case," he said, recalling the time when he had been locked up for a murder that a shifter had committed. "That wasn't me."

"I _know_ that-"

"It was a shifter."

"A _what_?"

"A shape-shifter. It has the ability to take on a person's physical likeness.

"How do you expect me to-" she began desperately

"Remember when there were two videos? The one of me on the street and then the one at the apartment?"

That had been the entire reason why he had been acquitted of that horrific charge—the reason why he had been allowed to return home to the boys, because she had managed to secure reasonable doubt in their minds.

"Yes..."

"That was the shifter—the _real_ one—at the apartment. The real me was the one walking down the street after I had gotten out of the sewer that it dragged me into."

Dawn shook her head slowly, as though she didn't believe a _word_ of what he was saying, and he wouldn't have blamed her. It was stunning, and it was a lot for anyone to take in at one time, especially with the kind of information that he was entrusting her with.

"You're telling me that those monsters-"

"They exist."

"And you _hunt_ them?"

"I do," he confirmed quietly.

"Are you _crazy_?" she asked again, it seemed to be the one question that she kept coming back to, and Caleb didn't blame her for that one bit.

"I wish," he said with a short laugh. "Do you believe me?" he asked, asking her the loaded question that he wasn't even sure he _wanted_ to know. He didn't stand to lose much if she didn't, but he needed her help and he needed the protection that she could possibly offer him.

"How can you ask me that?"

"I have to," he whispered quietly. "Dawn, look at me."

Slowly—as though she was afraid of what she would see when she did—she looked at him. Taking that as a positive sign, he forged ahead in his conversation with her, although he was well aware of the thin water he was treading on.

"What?" she said quietly, and Caleb could see her small frame trembling with the information he had just dumped on her.

"Have I ever lied to you? Even _once_, have I _ever_ lied to you?"

"No," she admitted after a second. "But-"

That was the beauty of their friendship—he had always been honest with her—or as honest as he _could_ be, and that had been the foundation they had stayed close with. Before then, he couldn't have been honest about the supernatural part of his life, and so that had meant a lot of fabricating and twisting on his part, but he was ready for that to be over with her.

"Then try to understand," he coached quietly. "I know this is a lot to take in. It was for _me_ when I first started getting involved in this. The things that I've done, the things that I've seen, would scare Jack the Ripper."

At least that comment earned somewhat of a smile from her.

"But how do you-"

"Kill them?"

A nod in answer.

At least she was starting to loosen up, and had gotten past the shock phase of her reaction and had started becoming more curious. It was a slight relief for Caleb, even though he had no idea what she would do with the information he was giving her.

"There's different methods for killing different things."

"Ghosts?" she asked, with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Salt and burn their bones."

This time she laughed. Caleb couldn't help but laugh, too. It was ridiculous to anyone who had never been a part of something like that, had done it so many times that it was practically second nature now.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "This is just-"

"Crazy?" Caleb supplied.

"Yes."

"Do you believe me, though?"

"I...I...I believe you," she finally said, "I must be crazier than _you _are, but I think I believe it."

"What made you change your mind?"

Not that he thought that she would walk out on him after she had stayed through the start of his incredible monologue, but he was curious as to what _exactly_ had nailed it in the coffin for her, what had made her change her entire beliefs and way of thinking to support what he had revealed to her.

"The security tape—how you—and that _thing_—were on both of them."

Caleb nodded. "So are you feeling like you're about to pass out?"

"No, not yet," she said. "I've seen a lot—I've heard a lot."

"So do you understand now?"

"About why all these things keep happening to you? Yes."

"Good," he said with a laugh. "And do you understand why you can't tell _anyone_ about this?"

"I do."

"I mean it, Dawn."

"I know," she said with a nod. "And I promise you it will stay between us."

"Thank you."

* * *

After being holed up in his bedroom—by his own choice—for a few days on end, Dean decided to finally make a baby step and go downstairs on his own. Sam and Bobby were both out there, watching something on TV.

"Look who decided to come out and join the land of the living," Bobby teased, as Dean came out into the living room, and plopped himself down on the recliner.

"Shocker," Dean said, smiling faintly, as he turned to his little brother. "Hey, Sammy."

"Hi," Sam said, as he bent his head low, writing something down on a notepad that was perched on his knees.

"What are you writing?" Dean asked, furrowing his brows together in confusion. While his brother was normally very studious, it was rare nowadays that he spent any significant amount of time doing schoolwork, not when they hadn't been in school for awhile.

"Writing."

"Duh," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "But _what_?"

"Just," Sam said with a careful shrug, as he finally gave his neck muscles a break in order to look up at his brother. "Just something for Caleb—I don't want him to miss out on anything that happens here while he's gone."

Dean nodded weakly—trying to swallow back the lump in the back of his throat when he was harshly reminded of Caleb's painful absence. "Yeah. I think that—I think that's a great idea, Sam."

"Thanks."

Sam had been processing Caleb's sentence in his own way. Over the last several months, he had found out about his family's secretive hunting life that he had been shielded from for most of his life, and then they had lost Jim, and then he had been kidnapped.

It would have been horrific for any kid to handle—but he had handled it like a pro—thanks in large part to his family's continued support and love for him.

"So how are you doing?" Bobby asked, as he studied the thirteen-year-old carefully.

Over the last several days since Caleb had been taken to the prison, he had seen an entire rainbow of emotion from Dean. Most of it was negative—unintended nasty comments, screaming fits, and then the action that Bobby had dreaded the most—locking himself in his room, shutting himself off from the rest of the world so he could grieve.

Dean didn't reply for several seconds—it was something he tended to avoid—talking about anything that even came _close_ to the area of emotional heart-to-hearts, but he also knew that there was only so much avoiding he could do before it was forced out of him.

"I'm okay," he said, finally settling on the word that could best describe his current mental state.

He was far from perfect—he was far from happy—but he was handling it a little bit better. The pain, while still there, wasn't as present as it had been during the first few days that Caleb had been gone from them.

"Good."

It was rare, especially lately, that Dean could be counted on to have a smile on his face. Even though Bobby and Sam had tried to get it out of him again, they had only partially succeeded on the best of days, and on the worst of days like he had been prone to having, they hadn't received _any_ response.

"Have you heard anything?" Dean asked, drawing his knees up close to his chest. It was a coping method, a subconscious way of keeping the pain that he could feel bubbling beneath the surface, at bay.

"About Caleb?" Bobby asked softly.

Dean nodded, batting his eyes rapidly to keep the annoying tears at bay. "Yeah," he said, as he bit down on this thumb.

"I heard from Dawn—they're going to start allowing him phone rights pretty soon."

"They are?"

"Yeah," Bobby said with a small smile. "About time, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed quietly. "What else?"

"Not much from her—I talked to your school."

"_And_?" Dean asked with a scoff.

If it hadn't been for their private school, none of the hell they were currently going through, would have happened. Because of a nosy principal, CPS had gotten involved in their lives and that had resulted in Caleb being arrested for supposedly kidnapping them.

"They wanted to know if they could expect you back or not."

"And what did you say-"

"Can we go back?" Sam interjected.

For a kid who had been used to going to school and seeing his friends on a regular basis, the confinement inside the house, had been hard for him to understand, even though he knew the role that his school had played in everything going to hell for them.

"I told them that, no, you wouldn't be back. I had a few other choice words, but I kept a lid on it."

"Too bad," Dean said teasingly.

"So are we going to a new school?" Sam asked, clearly not ready to give up on that subject quite yet.

"I think so—I have to talk to Caleb about it—but I think that might be a good thing."

"If we leave here, there won't be much of a point," Dean disagreed quietly.

If Caleb's appeal didn't end up panning out the way that they all hoped it would, the general agreement was that they would break Caleb out, and then run. Where, they didn't know, but as long as it was far from Minnesota and the prying eyes of a legal system that kept messing them up at every turn.

"Well, until that happens-" Bobby started to say, but was cut off when the phone rang in the kitchen.

"I wonder who it is," Sam wondered quietly.

"I don't know," Dean said, as they watched Bobby go into the kitchen to answer it. All they could hear for a few minutes, was his end of the conversation, with no indication as to who was on the other end of the line.

"Who is it?" Sam asked, when Bobby walked back out into the living room.

"It's Caleb."


	3. Chapter 3

Even though Dean had been desperate for any communication between himself and Caleb, he still took the phone with trembling hands, trying to brace himself for the emotional punch their conversation was sure to be, as he pressed the phone tightly to his ear.

Sniffling back a tear, he closed his eyes, hoped for strength and then started speaking. "Hey, stranger," he said teasingly, hoping to fall back into the same, easygoing relationship he and Caleb had with each other.

It was nearly impossible—especially when he was brutally reminded that it wasn't _jail_ Caleb was in now—but _prison_, and all for something that the authorities _refused_ to understand. As he shook his head, trying to regain some precious composure in order to effectively have a wonderful conversation with him, he was keenly aware of the sympathetic looks that Bobby and Sam passed over to him.

_Hey, dude. How are you doing?_

This was something he could pull off—especially with how _normal _Caleb sounded—especially when he should have been left reeling from what had happened to him. As he found himself relax in just the slightest, as he sank down into the kitchen chair, he tried to imagine conversations like this, even though he knew it would be hard to have to constantly refer to talking to him on the _phone _because of _where_ he was.

"I'm-" Dean hesitated. If there was anyone who he should feel comfortable divulging these details with, it _should_ be Caleb. Even when there had been no one that Dean had felt secure enough to talk to, Caleb had been there and had forced it out somehow. "Crappy," he finally admitted, settling for the word that best suited his current mood.

_I'm sorry, bud. _

Dean shrugged, even though Caleb had no way of _actually_ seeing that. "It's not _your _fault," he said, making it perfectly clear that he _did _hold someone responsible for their current situation, just not him. "How are you?"

_I'm...I'm like you. I'm crappy, but I have my good days and I have my bad._

"Why couldn't you, like, call us before now?"

Bobby had mentioned something about the reason he couldn't, was because he had been going through the ritual of being processed inside the prison, but when they had last spoken with Dawn, she had informed them that that had been over with for awhile.

_It's the _craziest _thing_," Caleb said with a laugh, and that made Dean let out a little one of his own. _The people here—the guards, _he explained, _think that the inmates have to-_

"Don't say that," Dean warned.

It was hard enough imagining Caleb having to survive in a place like that, without hearing him describe himself as an "inmate."

_Sorry. They think that the _people _here, _he emphasized. _Should have to earn all their privileges back. So basically, I had to prove that I could be a good little boy, and then I got my rights back. _

Dean shook his head in astonishment. "So you kept your head down and now-"

_Now I'm talking to you two again. _

Dean nodded, as he discreetly brought his shirt up to his eyes to wipe away more of the incoming tears. He had been doing pretty well that day, but speaking with Caleb, brought it all back to the surface again.

It was hard—knowing of how much they had lost in such a short amount of time—and now they were having to deal with another loss, another enforced separation that made Dean want to scream.

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice cracked as he tried desperately to hold in his fractured emotions. "So what's the latest with everything?"

_Uh, I talked to Dawn. She and I had a _major_ heart-to-heart._

"About what?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line—Dean knew that he was trying to come up with the right words to describe their conversation—whatever it had detailed.

_I told her._

"Told her what?"

_Everything—about hunting._

Dean was taken aback—even though they had known Dawn for years—or Caleb had—it was still something that he had always assumed would be kept in the family, and not be shared with anyone outside it.

"So what did she _say_? Did she call you crazy?" Dean said with a laugh.

_No, not at all. She was actually _very _understanding._

"Wow," Dean said incredulously, shaking his head. "She really _must _be something, or else she would have run to the first DA she saw, and spilled."

It wasn't often that they ran into people who understood what they did—most people who knew—the ones who they had saved from some form of evil or another—_still _didn't get it, and would often look at them as though they were freaks, instead of the people who had saved their lives.

_She's incredible_, Caleb agreed.

"What's the update on everything with...with your case?"

Even though talking things out with Caleb _helped_, there was no easing the pain that he felt at his absence, and how wrong their situation was. If it hadn't been for the school, if it hadn't been for a malicious prosecution who seemed intent on making sure their lives were a living hell, Caleb would be allowed to be home with them, and their lives wouldn't be such a mess.

_Dawn tried to get it upped a little bit, but the courts couldn't necessarily get that done. _

"Typical," Dean said with a scoff.

Of course the courts would deny him the chance to get his hearing over with—and relieve he and his family of more pointless pain. It was frustrating, but he tried to hold in his feelings until he could safely deal with them later.

_I know, but they were backlogged with other cases, and I guess it wouldn't be fair to push anyone else aside just for me._

"I don't really see an issue with that," Dean said with a shrug. "I mean, come on. They probably _did _something to deserve being there, but you didn't."

It made him so mad that the people who mattered—the people who held the power of keeping him locked up—couldn't understand the kind of person that he truly was.

_Well, in _their _eyes, I have something to answer for, too. _

"I know, but it still _sucks_."

That was putting it nicely—it was heartbreaking for Dean—and for Sam—that the person that they loved, was locked up in prison for an act that he had done out of a deep sense of protection and love for them.

_It _does _suck_," Caleb agreed. _So you're doing okay?_

"Yeah, I guess."

Most days he wasn't, but when he had good times like now, when he was talking with Caleb again, he felt a little bit better.

_Okay, good. Do you mind if I talk to Sammy?_

"I _guess _not," Dean said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "I love you."

_Love you too, dude. Talk to you next time, okay?_

"Okay."

* * *

As Caleb waited for Dean to pass over the phone to his little brother, he tried to keep his emotions in check. If there was one thing that was nearly _impossible _about his sentence, it was the separation that happened between he and the boys.

They had already gone through so much hell in their young lives—especially with losing their parents at such young ages, and then having to go through the pain and confusion of losing Jim. It was an unforgivable thing to have happen to them, and even though they had no way of knowing what they were doing, Caleb hated the legal system for creating yet _another _nightmare in their lives.

_Hi_, Sam said, finally coming on the line. _I miss you._

Caleb smiled, even though it was through tears, as he tried his hardest to keep his voice even so he wouldn't upset Sam more than he already was. "You have no idea how much I miss you, Sammy, and your brother," he added.

_When are you going to be home?_

Caleb hated it when the kids asked questions like that, because he knew there was no answer that would suffice for them. The appeal hearing was in a few weeks, but there was no promise it would work out the way they wanted it to, and then they had a choice to make concerning their future in Minnesota.

"I don't that yet, Sammy," Caleb said softly, pausing to inhale a deep, soothing breath as he focused on being strong for the nine-year-old on the other end of the line. "I still have my hearing coming up in a few weeks."

_That long_?" Sam said, the whining lilt that often appeared in his voice, making another appearance this time.

"I'm sorry—the courts won't let it happen any sooner—my attorney tried getting it done faster."

_I just miss you a lot. I wanted you to come back home with Bobby when you went to your sentencing. _

Caleb nodded. "I wanted that, too, Sammy."

_Are we going to leave if you can't get out?_

"I think so," he said, making sure that he spoke about those plans cautiously, especially when he was in full hearing range of the CO's and other inmates in there.

_Bobby said that we can't go back to our school._

"I heard they called—I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation."

_Yeah_, Sam said with a chuckle. _We might go to a new school, I guess. _

"I heard that, too. What do you think about going to a new place?"

_I want to go back to school, I guess. I miss the teachers and I miss hanging out with other kids. _

"I can understand that," Caleb emphasized. "Bobby and I are going to talk about it some more, and then hopefully we can swing something for you, buddy."

Even though Caleb had never been able to understand Sam's enthusiasm for attending school—and was actually in _awe _of his commitment to it—he wanted him to have that outlet in his life, and he wanted to be able to send the boys to a school where he wouldn't have to worry about them being reported for some stupid bruise or another.

_Okay. _

"I have to go," Caleb said, "can I talk to you the next time I call?"

_I'll see_," Sam said teasingly. _Yes_, he added after a second. _I love you._

"Love you, too."


	4. Chapter 4

For several seconds, Dean couldn't _breathe_ as he watched Sam finish up his conversation with Caleb. It had been something that Dean had _hoped_ for—something that he had _longed_ for since hearing the devastating news that Caleb had been incarcerated again, but hearing his voice had completely unraveled all the hard work that he had put into himself over the last several days.

As he got up from his place at the kitchen table and walked back out into the living room, desperate for some breathing room, he tried to reign in his emotions as he brought a trembling hand up to his face to wipe away the incoming tears before they _actually_ made their appearance.

It was so incredibly difficult for him—even though he knew this time that he would be seeing Caleb again—the separation _now_—was difficult for him to handle as he curled himself up on his favorite recliner, and tried to breathe through the amount of panic that he could feel gathering inside his heart.

For nearly as long as he could remember—eight years—he and Caleb had been so incredibly fortunate to share such a close, loving bond with each other. It was someone who had, literally, been there for he and Sam since the day that their dad was killed, and while there was no one who would _ever_ replace the memory of his real parents, Caleb and the family they had surrounded themselves with, had come pretty close to him.

It was something that Dean _knew_ he was lucky to have—someone who loved and supported he and Sam—but it was situations like _this_—where Caleb was being forced away from a family that loved him, that was nearly impossible for Dean to grasp.

In the kitchen, he could hear Bobby and Sam talking. In normal circumstances he would have joined them, but he wasn't feeling up to it. As he bit down on his bottom lip, he tried to imagine a good outcome, he tried to stay positive like Caleb had trained him to do in tough situations, but this was entirely different, and that was what stuck through his frazzled mind.

Either Caleb would have to stay there and rot for two years if his appeal didn't go through—or they would break him out and have to go on the run. The idea of running didn't bother Dean, it was what would happen to Sam if they did that.

The YED had already taken him once—Dean couldn't imagine how easy it would be for him if they were going from hotel room to hotel room, which would _all_ be unprotected against the evil that roamed the face of the planet.

"Hey," Bobby said, as he came out into the living room finally. "What happened to you?"

"Just needed some space," Dean replied quietly, as he picked at something on his sweatshirt.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, as he sat on the arm of the recliner.

"Yeah, I'm good, Sammy," Dean said, attempting to force a smile on his worn face.

It wasn't Sam's fault that they were in this situation—and he didn't deserve to be given an attitude by him, either. It was difficult, though, to keep his feelings in check, and as he took a deep breath to try to calm himself, he tried to remember the coping methods that Caleb had always spoken to him about.

Breathing through whatever was bothering him, was one of those things, and the easiest for Dean to accomplish, and so he did that.

"It was good talking to Caleb," Sam remarked.

"Yeah, it was."

"When is his hearing?" Sam asked, clearly getting anxious to see their other guardian again.

"Not for another three weeks," Bobby said gently, seeing how upset Dean was getting, and deciding to spare him from having to answer that question.

"Oh. Are we still going to break him out?"

"Yes," Dean said quickly, before looking to Bobby for confirmation. "_Right_?"

"That's right—I'm actually going to go see Caleb tomorrow. We'll have a better chance to talk about it, then."

"Okay."

Dean wished he could go see him—but he knew that wouldn't be allowed by either Bobby _or _Caleb—and he wasn't even sure he would be able to handle it if he had been given the chance. Instead, he tried to reconcile himself to the fact that he would be seeing him soon regardless.

"Can I go see him with you?" Sam asked, his hazel-brown eyes lighting up in eager anticipation of being able to finally see his guardian.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Bobby said gently, seeing the crestfallen look on his face. "We just don't want-"

"Me to see him like that," Sam quietly finished for him. "I know, but I _miss_ him."

"I know, buddy, but you'll be seeing him soon, no matter what."

Sam nodded, as he softly sniffled back some tears of disappointment. Even though he hadn't been as vocal about missing Caleb as his big brother, he still did. Besides Jim and Bobby, Caleb was the only parental authority figure that he could ever recall having, and it was scary for him to be one more person short in his life.

"Okay."

"We'll do something fun, Sam," Dean said bracingly, trying to stay brave for his little brother, even though he would have done anything to have been allowed to accompany Bobby on the trip.

"Like what?"

"Anything you want," Dean said, shrugging. "Punch the bag or something."

"Are you two going to be okay?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow in question, as Sam hesitantly nodded in agreement with what his brother was proposing they do.

"Yeah," Sam said, "when are you going to be back?"

"As soon as I can. It's not too far from here."

"What? The prison?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

"Alright," Dean said, turning his head briefly to shield the rapid influx of tears that he could feel coming on. "Just tell him that I love him."

"I will."

* * *

Bobby had been through this once before at the start of Caleb's case—but this time was different—it wasn't the county jail that he would be visiting his friend in—it would be the state _prison_. It was surreal, having to walk through those doors, turn over all of his personal property, and then walk through the metal detector.

All so that he could visit someone who didn't even _deserve_ to be in there in the first place. It was wrong, and seeing the uniformed guards and the rigidness of the rules as they showed him to the room where he would be meeting him in, only served to remind him of their escape plan, and the hope that it would go off without a hitch.

When the buzzer sounded over the door that he had just been led through, he looked up as a guard led Caleb in through it. They waited until the guard had left the room, before they said anything to each other. It would be too precarious otherwise, especially when one of them could accidentally let something slip.

"So," Bobby said, "you look okay."

He was paler than he normally was—and he had lost a little bit of weight—but he looked okay all things considered, and he guessed that was the most important part out of all this mess.

"Thanks," Caleb said, as he sat down across from Bobby. "So what's new?"

"Not too much—I heard that you were allowed visitors again."

"Right. Yeah, they had me on lockdown for the first week or so."

"_Why?"_ Bobby demanded incredulously.

"Because they wanted to make sure that I could be a good little kid and keep my head down—which I did."

The jail rules had been ridiculous—but they had been positively _lax_ compared to what the prison rules were. Bobby knew that it was for everyone's safety, but it made him sick when they were imposing these rules on someone who didn't deserve them.

"But now everything's back to normal?" Bobby pressed.

"Define 'normal'," Caleb said dryly, shaking his head in astonishment. "I mean it though, you can't mess up in this place. If you do? You pay for it _big time_."

"Like how?"

"If you're caught in a fight, you automatically lose your privileges for that week. I spent a few days in solitary because I threw a punch to defend myself from someone, and they took _that_ as a violation, and I couldn't call you guys for that time."

It had been heartbreaking to not have been allowed contact with his family—especially when he _knew_ that he could have talked to them a lot sooner, had he not engaged in the fight with the other inmate.

"So they put you in solitary-"

"For twenty-three hours out of the day."

"Because you _defended_ yourself?" Bobby demanded furiously. "How do they have the right to do that?"

Caleb shrugged, lifting one hand in the air. "I have no idea—but they did. Now I'm terrified of raising a _finger_, because if I do, I know I'll be punished for it."

"Do you want to do this _now_?" Bobby asked, hoping that Caleb would catch on to what he meant so he wouldn't have to further elaborate in case they were overheard.

"What do you mean?" Caleb asked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"You know-"

"The plan?" Caleb guessed.

"Yeah."

"Not yet. I want to see what happens with my hearing. If I get shot down _there_, then we'll do it for sure."

Now was the _worst_ time to be apart, and Caleb realized that. With YED on the loose and looking for more and more opportunities to find Sam again, he knew that they couldn't afford to be separated again, especially long-term like the courts were trying to do.

"Alright, that sounds good," Bobby said, looking down at his clasped hands. "My friend is ready to get in here, though. All I have to do is give him the go-ahead."

Caleb nodded. "Alright, good."

Even though he couldn't wait to get out of that place—especially since the prison was so strict compared to the jail—he was determined to wait until his appeals hearing to determine whether or not he would be able to get out the legal way or not.

"I talked to the boy's school," Bobby remarked.

It was still laughable when he considered their honest inquiry as to whether or not the boys would be back in their system—especially after all the hell they had caused their family.

"What did you say?" Caleb asked, as he rolled his eyes.

If it wasn't for those idiots, he wouldn't be in the place he was in now. It still made him furious that, someone he considered to be a friend, had betrayed him in that way. It was hurtful, and it was also maddening to know that it could have happened so quickly and so suddenly.

"I told him no," Bobby said bluntly, "I had a few other choice words, but I kept a lid on it."

"Wow," Caleb said with a laugh. "I'm surprised they had the nerve to even call."

"Me, too. Sam is pretty anxious about getting back into the swing of things, though."

Caleb nodded, knowing that to be absolute truth. "I'm more than sure."

"So what do you think about them going back?"

It was always risky sending the boys to a new school—the same problems could arise again—new officials creating new problems—and they would be back in the same boat, but Bobby knew that it would look more questionable if they didn't do anything at _all_.

"I think they have to for right now. We don't want CPS starting a fuss over them not going."

"True."

"So how are they?"

"The kids?"

Caleb nodded, raising his hand absently to wipe away the stinging moisture from his eyes. That was the hardest part of his incarceration, being separated from the boys long-term like he was now.

"They're doing okay. It helps them to be able to speak with you."

"It helps me, too."

Even though he couldn't be there with them physically, it made all the difference in the world to be able to speak with them and still have some of that bond with the boys that they had grown over the years.

"What's Dawn saying?"

Caleb shrugged, lifting one shoulder. "Nothing much. By some miracle, she still wants to represent me, but the main thing she's going to point out in the appeal hearing, is that what I allegedly did, was not kidnapping."

"How does that work?"

"The law, as they so clearly stated, says it defines it. But she thinks they were grasping at straws. The law is clear where it concerns that, and nothing I did is stated in the law."

"So she thinks she can-"

"They didn't charge me correctly. That's what she'll say."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean was nervous—this would be the first time he would have to switch schools in awhile—not since before they arrived in Steele County a few years previously—after a nightmare involving their previous school. For him, school used to be a way of providing an escape from the supernatural and all the stress that it encompassed.

It also gave him friends—ones that were far removed from the rigors and trauma of hunting—and it also gave him a chance to engage in sports—something he had dabbled in once or twice with baseball and then basketball.

But ever since the nightmare that their previous school had caused with CPS and then Caleb being arrested for their kidnapping and alleged abuse—Dean had become convinced that he would be perfectly happy if he never saw another school building again.

Still—Bobby had brought up the argument that CPS _could_ become a problem again if they didn't show proof that the boys were in school again—and while Dean hated to be subjected to another school again—he couldn't deny that it would be the smartest move in terms of avoiding more investigation by the nosy and cruel CPS officials.

"Aren't you excited?" Sam asked, as he put his new notebooks and pencils into his backpack.

The previous day, Bobby had taken the boys to the local mall to shop for new school supplies—the trip only served to bring out another fresh round of anger in Dean—those trips were usually something that Caleb did with them, normally followed by a training session, or when they were younger, a trip to the local park for some fun.

"I guess," Dean replied quietly, as he double-checked that he had all the things he would need for the day ahead, before glancing down at the dagger that Bobby had given him to conceal inside the bag.

"What's that?"

"A knife," Dean said, as he searched inside his backpack for a suitable place to hide it. Finally settling on ripping some of the rough fabric away from the bottom of the bag, he tucked it in there and put some of his books on top of it.

If he was crafty with how he handled his books the rest of the day, no one should suspect that he was illegally carrying a weapon on school property.

"Why are you carrying that?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose the way he usually did when he was confused about something.

"For protection."

"Against what?"

"A demon, Sam," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Yellow-Eyes took you from school the last time. I figure we—or _I_—need to be prepared for anything happening."

Dean hadn't been with Sam when he had been kidnapped from school—and that had haunted him throughout the entire week that they had searched for him—there was no way that he was allowing anything to happen again. Especially with the hell that they were _already_ going through. It would be better to be prepared, than have something happen that could have been prevented.

"Oh. I guess that's smart. Does Bobby know you're carrying that?"

"He's the one that gave this to me."

Bobby recognized the fact that it was time for the boys to return to school—but that didn't mean he expected them to return unprotected—and so he had given Dean the knife with the strict instructions to keep it very well hidden to protect against future problems.

"Dean," Sam said again, after a second. "Are you okay?"

If anyone besides Bobby knew what a horrible last week it had been for Dean—it was Sam. While he was close to Caleb just like Dean was, it didn't come close to the bond that his brother and Caleb shared, and when Dean was so desperately unhappy and upset, it made Sam feel the same way.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Are you?"

"Yeah."

"Good—you'll get a chance to be a geek again," Dean said, as he took a deep breath, "and make some new geek-like friends."

If there was one good reason why they would be going back to school—it would be because of Sam. Even though Dean couldn't care _less_ about going back, it would serve to be a great tool for his brother to reclaim some of the normalcy that had been sorely lacking in the last few months.'

"Oh, thanks," Sam said with a Dean-like scoff, "and you'll get the chance to be all popular and have a lot of friends again."

"Being popular is overrated. So are friends. Especially if we won't be around long enough to hang out much."

Even though it was true that Dean _was_ popular and had a lot of friends back at their old school—they didn't mean much to him anymore. Especially with the knowledge that they most likely wouldn't be around long enough to forge any _lasting_ connections.

"Friends are important. Even if we leave," Sam quietly contradicted.

"Not as important as family—Nothing is."

"Do you really think we'll leave?" Sam asked, as he hitched his backpack up higher on his shoulder.

Sam had never known that way of life before, and while it was exciting to imagine something different, it was also scary. He had never known life on the road like Dean remembered, and the thought of constantly moving from place to place, never really feeling at home anywhere, would be hard.

"If his appeal gets denied, then yes," Dean said, sparing him a quick glance, not willing to allow his brother to be a front-row seat to his oncoming breakdown.

"Is that possible?"

"Highly."

Not that he wanted to scare Sam necessarily—but he was being realistic. It was rare that a conviction was overturned on appeal—not unless there was proven to be some serious errors made either by the judge or the prosecution.

Dawn's angle would be that that the DA had overcharged Caleb for kidnapping—when what he did didn't fit what the law defined as that—and that the judge had made a serious error when he had refused her plea at his arraignment, for another charge to be reconsidered.

"What if-"

"How are you boys doing?" Bobby asked, interrupting whatever Sam had been about to say.

Bobby knew that it would be hard for Dean to return to school—even if it was a new one—but the last thing they needed was CPS connecting more invisible dots and jumping to a conclusion based off that.

"Awesome. Walking on the sunshine," Dean replied flippantly, as he finished packing his bag, before effortlessly swinging it over his shoulder.

"Good," Bobby said, choosing not to comment on Dean's attitude. "Do you have the knife?"

"Yeah—I have it in there."

"Do you have it hidden?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow.

It was fairly normal that the guys allowed the kids to bring knives with them to the school—but only for protection against any evil that might come in—but the fear of it being detected, was still a serious concern for the hunter.

"No, Bobby," Dean said mock-seriously. "I have the thing front and center."

"Curb the attitude, Dean."

"I don't have an attitude," Dean said, as he turned away from Bobby in order to grab his coat from the hook.

"Yes, you do. You need to cool it, or else talk to me about it."

"There's nothing to talk about—the bus is going to be here in a second."

It was obvious Bobby had another comment on the tip of his tongue, but wisely held it in. "Alright, have a good day, both of you."

"Thanks!" Sam said, as he eagerly raced out the door with Dean.

* * *

It was coming down to the final few days before Caleb's appeal hearing. Even though he couldn't help the nerves that were coursing through his body at the anticipation of _finally_ obtaining the freedom that he so rightly deserved, it was hard to feel any sort of optimism.

Especially when the courts refused to grant him the peace that he had been searching for ever since the night of his arrest. Even though he would never take back a second of what he had done to protect the kids, he wished it hadn't gone down that way.

It seemed to him, that every move he had made for the boys, had turned out to be against them. Even though he had done the alleged crime out of a deep sense of love and concern for them, the people that had the power of realizing that and setting him free, didn't.

Now he was in prison—it wasn't the life sentence that he had originally feared—but it was two years too long for him. There was no conceivable way he could be apart from the boys that long, especially when the YED was still out there, still gunning for a chance to take Sam again and make him be a part of his sick and twisted army.

And even though he wanted to go about things the legal way as much as he possibly could—he knew that if he was shot down there, he would have no choice but to stage the prison break-out that he and Bobby had been planning.

It wouldn't be the preferred method to him—but he knew it would be the _only_ way to ensure the fact that he and the boys would be able to be together—along with Bobby—and would have strength in numbers against the sadistic demon.

First though, he needed to make sure that Dawn understood his plan. It had been a few weeks since he had confided in her his secret, and while she had reacted as well as he could have expected her to, they hadn't discussed much else related to the secret he had entrusted her with.

"Hi," she said, one afternoon, as they sat down together for their meeting.

The appeal was in a few days—and she wanted to go over what Caleb could expect from the hearing—and what their definitive argument would be against the prosecution's insane theories.

"Hey," he said, as he rested his hand underneath his chin. "What have you got?"

"I wanted to go over some strategy with you."

"Shoot."

Pulling out some detailed notes, she spread them across the table so he would be able to view them himself. Mostly, it outlined the prosecution's case against him, and her own notes that directly contradicted the evidence they had brought forth.

"So all this will be geared toward discrediting them," she explained, once Caleb had finally looked back up at her.

"Okay."

" The main argument will be that the judge overcharged you for what happened."

"Okay. Because what I did doesn't even-"

"What you _apparently_ did doesn't even come _close_ to kidnapping. The judge has a certain leeway when deciding a charge or a sentence, but he isn't allowed to go crazy, either."

"What does the law say in regards to the kidnapping rap?"

That would mean everything, if the judge didn't follow proper procedure when deciding the appropriate charge to have stick. It would definitely be grounds for him winning his appeal, and it would also give him significantly less time in jail.

"In a nutshell," she said, "it means that you would have to hold someone for ransom, or as a shield of protection or a hostage. That's the first...stipulation, and that obviously doesn't apply to you."

"Of course not," he said, shaking his head incredulously. "What else does it say?"

"The second rule is that a kidnapping has occurred when you intend to flee with them...which sort of applies to you...but not really," she added. "The third is where you mean to cause great bodily harm to the victim, or to terrorize he or she."

"That doesn't apply to me either."

"The fourth means that you intended to hold them over for involuntary servitude."

Caleb shook his head, feeling a single tear slide down his cheek at the unfairness of all of it. Nothing in the law, except maybe the second rule, dictated what he did constituted kidnapping. Either every single judge and DA in the state had something against him, or the judge had been intimidated by the prosecutor.

"_Nothing_ I did with those boys," he said, bowing his head as more tears leaked out, a product of so many weeks spent in confinement, and away from two of the most important people in his life. "Was kidnapping. Even the _law_ says that. So what the hell was this judge thinking?"

It had been absolutely infuriating before—but after hearing what the law so clearly defined as kidnapping—and how none of that applied to him—was devastating. It meant that their entire nightmare could have (and should have) been avoided.

"I don't know," Dawn said apologetically. "But we can fix it. That's what's important."

"In front of the new judge, right?"

"Correct."

Caleb shook his head. "I can't believe this."

"We still have a chance," she reminded him.

"Dawn," Caleb said, after a moment of contemplation. "I have to tell you something, and I need you to listen, okay?"

"What is it?" she asked wearily, as though fully expecting to hear another unbelievable supernatural tale, and that was almost exactly what he intended to deliver to her.

"If this appeal doesn't pan out the way we want it to," he said, as he looked down at his hands. "Bobby has a friend that can break in here at the drop of a hat, and get me out."

"Excuse me?" she demanded incredulously. "You're going to break out-"

"If my appeal gets denied, then yes."

"Are you crazy?"

That seemed to be the choice word she used around him a lot—and he didn't blame her. For someone who had never been a part of that life, it would seem like a lot. He knew—he had been in her shoes once before, and it wasn't funny.

"No. I can't stay in this place, Dawn. Not forever like they want. I refuse to be punished for something I didn't do—I'm tired of playing their games—and I'm tired of taking the blame for this crap."

"Do you realize what will happen if you-"

"I know," he interjected. "But there's more at stake than just me wanting a break from all this."

Mainly the boys and their continued protection against the YED—he wasn't an idiot—he knew that the demon was still looking for an opening to slip through. The dreams that Sam had started having again, was solid proof to back up that theory.

"Like what?"

"The person that took Sam? It wasn't really a person."

"Then what—or who—was it?" she demanded.

"A demon," he offered bluntly. "A demon that has been responsible for a lot of heartache in our family. It killed Jim, and before that, it killed Sam and Dean's mother. This thing won't stop until it gets what it wants, and as much as I would love to stick around and put up with the DA's array of crap, I can't."

Dawn was silent for several minutes as she silently absorbed the weight of what Caleb had just revealed to her—shaking her head slowly in complete disbelief—she clasped her hands in front of her face.

"So Sam was taken by-"

"By a demon."

"And this...this...demon is still looking for him?"

"Yes. Being apart from each other is dangerous for so many reasons, but that's the number one reason."

They had strength in numbers—and that's what Caleb knew to be true—it wasn't even about the fact that he missed and loved them—which he did. It was about making sure that the kids were safe from any future harm.

"So you're going to escape?"

"If I can't get past this the legal way, then yes."

"The odds of you making it far, is remote."

"I know the odds aren't in my favor," he agreed with a grimace, "but I have to try. I need to know, Dawn, if you'll help me."

"How?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "Anyway you can."

"I could lose my job."

"I know," he said softly, feeling horrible for the position he was putting her in. "But to be honest? These boys could lose a lot more than that if I'm not there to make sure they're safe."

Dawn seemed to take those particular words to heart—as she nodded hesitantly. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just divert attention away from me."

"Where would you go?"

"I don't know that yet—Bobby and I haven't gotten that far in the planning yet."

"I'll do what I can."

"Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

Even though Dean had dreaded the idea of walking back into _another_ school building and subjecting himself to whatever hell would potentially await him there—it hadn't been _as _bad as he had originally envisioned when he had first been informed he would be going back.

While it had been hard to adjust to his new classes and schedules—and the teachers who seemed to think that he was something they needed to put right on display in the front of the classroom—no doubt having heard of the controversy that surrounded his family—it hadn't been as unbearable as he had thought it would be.

Some of the students were nice—they weren't _overtly_ welcoming—but they were nice enough to walk up and introduce themselves—and even invite him to sit with them at lunch. Which he did, but making friends had never been as easy for him as it had been for his little brother.

Part of the reason was that he was so selective about the people he chose to associate himself with. One of the perks of his old school was that he had known most of the kids there for years, and these ones were completely new to him.

One perk he _couldn't _deny—were the girls. Even though the school had a strict policy when it concerned intimate relations with the opposite sex—he had always found unique ways around that rule—and this was no different as he found creative ways to enjoy the ample amount of women that came his way that day, no doubt drawn in by his charm, and the affable way he interacted with them.

It had still been a relief to hear the final bell ring—and know that he would be granted release from the curious, gossiping teachers, and the students who seemed to fall in line with what their elders were thinking.

Grabbing his bag that he had draped around his chair, his keen, searching eyes automatically sought his brother out in the throng of students jockeying for the first chance out the door. Finally, he spotted him out by the long line of buses that had pulled up along the expansive curbing to give the students a much needed rest.

"Hey," Sam said, as he glanced over at his big brother.

"How was it?" Dean asked, as he teasingly roped an arm around his brother's shoulders, pulling him close.

"Fine. Get off me!" Sam said with a laugh, as he shoved him away.

"Jeez. _Someone's_ on their high horse," Dean mumbled, as they boarded the bus that would be taking them home. "Did you get Mrs. Walker?"

"Yeah—she was nice."

"Or a complete phony."

"Why?" Sam asked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Come on, Sam," Dean said, rolling his eyes as he obnoxiously smacked some gum in his mouth. "The woman was, like, falling asleep during class. Even _I _was more awake than she was."

"Did you make any friends?" Sam asked. "Or _girlfriends_?" he added as an afterthought.

"Yeah," Dean said, as he rolled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt to prominently display the numbers the girls had all given him. "Five," he added, grinning victoriously.

"You're something else," Sam said, a cross between awe and horror on his face. "You _have_ to teach me how to do that sometime."

"What?"

"Get a girlfriend—you do it _so_ easily."

"You're nine, Sam," Dean replied, shaking his head in amusement. "I didn't have girls when I was that age. But once I grew out of my 'girls are disgusting' phase, I started getting them."

"I don't think they're gross-"

"You know what I mean. Just give yourself a year or two, Sam."

"Whatever. Why did you wear your sweatshirt?"

Sam had only just noticed that Dean had chosen to wear the sweatshirt that he had gotten from their old school, and had thought it was strange because of how pleasantly warm the weather had been that day.

"Because," Dean said, as he shrugged out of it, figuring that the bus driver wouldn't be paying any attention. "I still have some bruises," he said, lowering his voice. "I don't want them to make a big deal out of it like our old one did."

The last thing they would need would be for the new school to see the same marks that the old one had—and make a big deal out of nothing. It was better to be safe than sorry, and have another problem on their hands later.

"Oh. I guess that's smart."

"I know," Dean said with a rare grin. "Did you meet any rugrats like yourself?"

"Yes!" Sam said eagerly, as though he had been waiting for Dean to bring up that subject. "They were so awesome-"

"Are they all geeks like you are?"

"No—but they're real smart like me."

"So they're geeks."

By the time the bus rolled up to the stop a few houses from their own, Dean was tired. It had been a long day, and he was anxious to crash for the rest of the afternoon, and hopefully forget everything that had happened that morning.

Even though he and Bobby _rarely_ got upset with each other—it still bothered him that it had happened at _all_—even though he knew that conflict couldn't always be avoided in family's. Especially ones with the amount of problems like they had. As he and Sam raced each other home, a ritual that they always liked to play with each other, he hoped that he would be walking into something good, that Bobby would be there with good news, or even a delicious snack.

"Hey," Bobby said, as both boys slammed through the door. "How was it today?"

"Good!" Sam said gleefully, as he and Dean both dove into the snacks that Bobby had arranged for them to gorge themselves on.

"Excellent," Bobby said, as he turned to the thirteen-year-old who was avoiding his gaze by distracting himself with the food and the drinks that Bobby had spread out before them. "How was it, Dean?"

"Good," Dean supplied.

"Awesome—you doing okay?"

Dean nodded. "Yup."

"Okay, good. I'm sorry that we had words this morning, idjit."

Bobby didn't like it when he had to get strict with the boys—that was more Caleb and Jim's territory than his—and he was clearly out of his element in that department. It was hard for him to impose punishment, or reprimand them when they had been through so much trauma in the last few weeks.

"I'm sorry, too."

Bobby smiled—clearly glad like Dean was—that their argument from earlier was over. "So you both had a good day?" he asked, eager to know more about all they had done, and if they had made any new friends.

"Yeah," Dean said with a shrug. "I made a few friends-"

"And girlfriends," Sam interrupted, giving him the kind of look that only a little brother could.

"Oh, really?" Bobby said interestedly as he raised an eyebrow.

"Girlfriends as in more than one-"

"As in five," Sam said simply.

"Dude!" Dean said incredulously. "Last time I'm telling _you_ anything."

"You met _five_ girls on your first _day_?" Bobby asked, torn between amusement and incredulity like Sam.

"Some were girls," Dean explained, as he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to show his arm off. "And some were just _friends._"

"Those are them?" Bobby inquired, seeing the special numbers written on his arm.

"Those are the girls that I _like_ like."

"You're incredible. Never seen anything like it when it comes to you and the ladies."

"You're making me blush, Bobby," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "So what's the latest here? What I have missed since," he said, as he pretended to check an invisible watch. "Seven 'o two am?"

With the twists and turns their lives had taken recently—he could have missed nothing—or he could have missed the end of the world, and would have been none the wiser.

"Not too much. I _did_ speak with Dawn," Bobby added, "and she wants to come over later to discuss some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Dean wondered, as he hung his and Sam's coat on the hooks.

"I have no idea—I told her she was free to come whenever she wanted to."

"Do you think it has anything to do with the appeal?"

"I don't know."

* * *

As he waited for Dawn to make her grand appearance in their house again, Dean tried to shove back the irrational feelings he had toward her, as he went upstairs to change into some more comfortable clothing. It wasn't _her_ fault that Caleb had been given two years, and it wasn't _her_ fault that the legal system was incapable of recognizing the truth for what it was.

Still—when he had first been told of Caleb's sentence—the first feelings he could comprehend had been anger—and devastation—but mostly anger, and at the wrong person. Dawn had helped Caleb out of numerous tight spots over the years, but somewhere in his brain he had forgotten that until now, as he waited for her.

"Dawn's here," Sam said, appearing in his doorway. "I thought you would like to know."

"Yeah," Dean said, as he turned away from his desk to face his little brother. "Thanks."

"Yup."

Going downstairs, he found Dawn and Bobby conversing in the living room. Both of them stopped when he entered the room, but he didn't mind as he effortlessly made himself comfortable on the recliner.

"So what's new with you?" Dawn asked, turning her attention to Dean.

"Not much—we just started at a new school today."

"Was that okay?"

"More or less."

"That's good," Dawn said with a smile. "I haven't seen you in a little while."

"Yeah," Dean said noncommittally. "You've been busy?"

"When I am _not_?" she asked with a laugh.

"What have you guys been talking about?" Dean asked curiously, as he curled up comfortably on the cozy chair.

"Well," Bobby said, shaking his head in disbelief. "We were talking about what would happen if Caleb's appeal didn't work out."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean said, trying to ignore the shooting stab of pain that his stomach got when he thought of anything to do with Caleb's nightmare of a legal case. It was easier not to think about it—but when someone brought it up, or he was reminded of it, it made it harder for him.

"Yeah," Dawn said, "he told me about his escape plan."

"Did he?"

"Yeah—I told him I would help him if it came to that."

Dean nodded, trying to bat away fresh tears. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to leave Minnesota—the place had long ago lost its appeal for him—but he was concerned about the impact such a move would have on his little brother. "Thank you."

"I can't deny that all this is just slightly-"

"Terrifying?" Bobby guessed.

"That pretty much sums it up."

Dean nodded; he knew what all _that_ was about. When he had first received his indoctrination into the world of the supernatural, it had been one big confusing maze for him. Now that he was more used to it and the dangers that it posed, he was okay with the burden of that knowledge.

"What's the latest?" Dean asked, as he curled his knees up close to his chest.

"With the hearing? Or the progression of my nightmares?" she asked dryly.

"Well..." Dean said thoughtfully. "The appeal, for right now."

"I'm making some headway," she assured him. "We have everything we need before we go up before the judge."

Dean nodded, swallowing thickly. "And you're sure that you can get him off the hook?"

"It's never a certain thing," she explained softly. "I thought we had the sentencing, but we didn't. It's a matter of convincing the right people of the issue that you need them to be convinced of."

"Right—is this a new judge?"

The previous one—the one who had sentenced Caleb to do hard time—had completely dropped the ball with him. It still made Dean furious, it still broke his heart, even though he knew that he would be seeing Caleb soon. Regardless of whatever misguided decision the judge ended up making.

"It is."

"And the argument is going to be-"

"That he was overcharged for something that should have been contempt of court—which obviously would have packed a less severe sentence."

Dean nodded. "Okay. If this gets shot down-"

"Then legally he would be forced to serve out the rest of his sentence in the prison...but since he has a backup plan," she added with a wry smile, "it might not end up being like that."

"We aren't going to make a move until his appeal gets shot down," Bobby explained. "Caleb wants to wait to see if he can get the charge dismissed first."

"I asked him where you thought you might be going, and he said that he hasn't talked to you about that yet."

"We don't know yet. The only plan right now is to get him as far from Minnesota as humanly possible."

"I need to know as soon as you know, because if the DA starts asking tough questions, I need to be prepared to give them a false answer. If I do that, I don't want to accidentally land them right in your hands."

"I understand—I'll let you know—or Caleb will—when we have more solid answers for you."

"Thank you."


	7. Chapter 7

Heart pounding like a bongo drum—Caleb was certain that he had never felt more nervous in his entire life as he counted down the final twenty-four hours before his crucial appeal hearing. Even though he was being realistic in his expectations of _actually_ achieving the freedom he so desperately craved, a part of him couldn't help but feel a sense of optimism.

Especially when he was reminded that one way or another, he would be getting out. It might not end up being the _legal_ way—but he would be obtaining his freedom after that hearing regardless of whether or not this new judge would right the wrongs that the previous judge had committed.

Going on the run—if the hearing didn't conclude the way he hoped for—would be hard. It was the last thing he wanted for Sam and Dean—especially since the YED's whereabouts were still uncertain at that time.

Scrubbing an exhausted hand over his face, he allowed the guards to apply the humiliating restraints so that he could be led to the conference room where he and Dawn most often conducted their meetings. The restraints were something he had long since gotten used to, even though it still made him wince whenever they were fastened on, and especially when he was brutally reminded of the _reason_ behind them.

People thought he was dangerous.

A threat that needed to be controlled—like an animal.

It was something that was _still_ heartbreaking—and one of the main reasons why he didn't want the boys visiting him—if they were devastated _now_—especially Dean—he couldn't _imagine_ subjecting them to the sight of him in cuffs and chains like the guards insisted on having him wear.

As he walked into the medium-sized room, he tried to control the nausea that he felt as he let the guards place him in the seat across from Dawn. Waiting until they had safely vacated the room, he shook his head, trying to clear it for the long conversation ahead.

"How are you?" Dawn asked, clearly sensing how exhausted he was.

"Not good—couldn't sleep again."

"I'm sorry," she replied, as she bent over her carefully prepared notes. "I just wanted to go over some final issues before the hearing in the morning."

"What time is it in the morning?"

"Around nine."

Early wake-up call. Whenever one of the inmates—like himself—had a court appearance, the guards liked to wake them up early so they could go through the embarrassing rituals of being transported all over again.

"Alright. Tell me about this judge. Do you like him?"

"To be honest? I haven't worked with him on a lot of cases yet. From what I've observed with my limited contact with him, he's fair. He doesn't take a lot of bull in his courtroom, and that's a good sign for _us_."

It would mean the prosecution would have less of a chance of hammering in their demented theories—especially if this judge was as no-nonsense as she claimed he was. Trying to allow that tidbit of information to sink in, he sighed deeply as she passed him some notes to review.

"How long will it last?" he asked, as he glanced down at the carefully outlined strategy she had worked out for them. It was meticulous—covering every square inch of the prosecution's outlandish case—and disputing every single shred of evidence they had collected.

"Around an hour or two—not long. Just enough to present our case before the judge, and then the prosecution's side will have their opportunity to present any contradictory evidence."

"So we get to go first this time?"

That would be a welcome relief—whenever there had been a serious court hearing like this one—the DA's side had almost always gotten the chance to appear before the judge first. Having Dawn get _her_ say _first_, would eliminate most of the trepidation from his heart.

"Yes."

"If this doesn't go our way-"

"Legally you would be obligated to stay here and go through more hell," she said with an ironic smile, "but with your little plan, you'd be able to get out fairly quickly."

"Good. Did you—have you spoken with Bobby at all?"

"I did—I stopped over there last night."

Caleb nodded, raising his cuffed hands and clasping them in front of his face. "What did you two talk about?"

"We talked about the escape plan. I asked him if he had any idea where you guys would be going, and he said that the only surefire goal would be to get you as far from here as fast as humanly possible."

"That's the plan," Caleb said, nodding in the affirmative. "At this point, I don't really care _where_ we go. Just as long as it's as far from here as we can possibly get."

They could travel to the ends of the earth—and Caleb would be fine with that—as long as they were going away from the biased prosecution in that state—and somewhere where they would be safe from the constant scrutiny and pain.

"I need to know where you'll be, though," Dawn said quietly. "Even though I have a legal right _not_ to discuss our meetings with anyone, that doesn't mean it won't be forced out of me if something like you escaping happens."

"So what does that mean?" Caleb asked, feeling his heart skyrocket at the news she had just delivered to him. It wouldn't be good—not at all—if the DA could force her to reveal his location to them. Part of the genius of cluing her in on his double life, was so that she could _protect_ he and the boys if he was going to escape.

"It means," she said bluntly, "that I need to know where you'll be so I can lead them in the _opposite_ direction."

Caleb nodded. "Thank you. I mean it. You've been amazing, Dawn."

She had been a life saver to him on more than _one_ occasion—and here she was about to do it again—this time with the possibility of not only losing her _job_, but being charged with aiding and abetting for helping him escape.

"Don't thank me yet," she said with a sigh. "We need to hammer down where you'll be going if we get shot down, and then you can thank me."

"Sounds good."

* * *

Dean tried to avoid waking up that morning—tried to ignore the pressing ache of nervousness in his stomach when his brain further propelled him to consciousness. It was the morning of Caleb's appeal hearing—his last chance to get out legally before they would have to hatch their emergency escape plan.

It wasn't anything that Dean wasn't used to already—but he didn't want it to end like that either. He didn't want to have to face the impossible task of running as far from their home as they possibly could, and have the burden of worrying endlessly about his little brother and his continued safety from harm.

Sighing deeply as he rolled over on his back, he tried to ignore the dull throbbing of his heart as he palmed his face. It had been a long, fruitless night of attempted rest. Whenever he had come _close_ to finally obtaining it, the horrific thoughts in his mind took center stage again.

When he finally admitted defeat and got up to get dressed, he couldn't deny the anxiousness that was rapidly replacing the fear in his heart. Even if the outcome _wasn't_ the one they all hoped for, at least they would be together again. At least Caleb would be able to be a part of their lives again, even if it was on the run.

Wrenching open his door, he made the walk downstairs and found Bobby and Sam already in the kitchen. Sam was slurping down a bowl of cereal, and Bobby was attempting to teach him proper cereal-handling techniques.

"How long have you guys been up?" Dean asked, as he made himself a bagel.

"Just a few minutes," Sam said with a shrug. "Bobby didn't want to wake you up."

"Thanks," Dean mumbled, shooting Bobby a grateful glance. "Are we going to school this morning?"

He couldn't imagine having to concentrate all day in school while the hearing was happening. It would be too much—especially with the thoughts that kept making themselves at home in his already crowded brain.

"I think that should be up to you," Bobby said carefully. "Do you feel up to it?"

Dean hesitated, as he bit down into his bagel. It would be nice to see the new friends that he had started to make, but he knew that his heart wouldn't be in it like it would have been otherwise, and that would be a problem for the teachers who would be trying to conduct their classes.

"Not really," he admitted, as he slid into a seat next to Sam.

"Then you don't have to go."

"Okay, thank you."

Swiping a hand across his face, he tried to will the tiredness away with little result. It would be nearly unbearable to have to wait with Sam while Bobby attended the hearing. In a way, school would have at _least_ served the purpose of distracting his brain from worrying, but then he wouldn't have to put up with the prying eyes of the staff, and the students.

"No problem, idjit. Didn't you sleep last night, kid?"

"Not at all."

"I'm sorry—too many nerves?"

"Yeah, I think so. How long is it supposed to last?"

"I'm not sure," Bobby replied, as he got up to put his coat on. "I think an hour or two at the latest."

"So it won't be all day?" Dean asked, feeling relieved that he wouldn't have to sit and agonize for the entire day while he waited for a decision that would either make it possible to remain in one place, or forcing them to build a new life for themselves on the road.

"No, not at all."

"Good."

"I'll be back as soon as I know anything. Will you two be alright while I'm gone?"

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding quietly, as he dipped his spoon into the bowl again.

"Yup," Dean said. "Just hurry."

"I will. I promise."


	8. Chapter 8

Anticipation.

Apprehension.

Fear.

Dread.

Caleb was feeling it all that morning as he woke inside the cell that he had been assigned to. Breakfast had been served an hour before that, but he had managed to fall back asleep. A consequence of achieving little to no sleep the previous night.

And for good reason.

His appeal hearing—the one that would determine whether or not he would be allowed freedom or be forced to serve out the rest of his sentence—was that morning. Even though he knew that, one way or another, he would be granted freedom that day, it still didn't make his nausea go away as he waited for the guards to come and get him.

The last thing he felt like doing was running. Not just for himself, but for the boys. They were too innocent, too young to be living the kind of life that even seasoned _hunters_ had trouble dealing with. It was too much to expect them to pack everything up and move from the only security they had ever known.

It was a sad reality of kids born into hunting family's—but it was something they had managed to skate by on—until now. If his hearing went south like he fully expected it to, they would have to face the impossible decision to either stay and allow him to rot for two years, or stage an escape and go on the run from the police that would be seeking him.

When he heard the guards come back again, he knew what it would be for. The time had come to face the music and what his future with the boys would hold. Either peace. Or a lot of time spent traveling all over the countryside, evading the authorities.

Knowing the routine well by now, Caleb walked over to the cell door where the guard was unlocking the little hatch that was used to pass food back and forth between the prison and themselves. Sliding his hands through the opening, he waited for the guard to cuff them in front, and then stepped back for them to open the cell door.

It was humiliating and it _always_ made him feel vulnerable to anyone on the inside that could possibly be under possession—but there was little he could do about it. Arguing would only prolong the inevitable, and that was something he tended to avoid at all costs.

"Okay, turn around and spread your arms," the guard instructed.

With a sigh, Caleb complied as he turned and did what the guard had told him to do. Closing his eyes, he waited while the guard applied the humiliating waist chain and shackles, trying not to wince as he tried to breathe through the scary procedure.

Once he was given clearance to leave his cell—he did so slowly. It was difficult walking in the shackles, and he had learned the hard way to take baby steps while he was wearing them. Luckily, he didn't have to walk far to the underground parking garage where they kept the police vans and cars. Today, he would be riding in the standard car since there weren't other inmates to transport to hearings.

Carefully sliding in, he leaned his head back against the plastic seating as he tried to envision a good outcome for the morning. It was something he had trained himself to do, even though that way of thinking hadn't gotten him very far as of late, but it was something that centered him, made him calm as he prepared to face whatever hell the prosecution would think up.

Swallowing back the roll of bile in the back of his throat, he glanced out the window. They were nearing the downtown courthouse where most of the proceedings related to his case, had been held. Over time, he had almost been at the courthouse as much as he had been housed at the county jail, and now the prison.

Taking a deep breath when the car turned sharply and traveled into the underground garage, he prepared himself for the painful walk upstairs to the right room. Once he _actually_ reached the courtroom, the restraints came off, but it was _getting_ there that was the problem for him.

Ignoring the restraining hand that the guard placed on his upper arm, he walked as steadily as he could through the halls until they reached the holding cell that was directly adjacent to the courtroom where he would be for the morning.

Unfortunately for him, the guards chose to keep the restraints on him while he waited for his case to be called. It wasn't an issue anymore—he had grown used to waiting in chains for his cases to be heard—even though it was an annoyance, and just served to remind him of how trapped he really was. At least until he or Bobby could stage the break-out that would be his salvation from his continued nightmare.

It only took a few minutes for his case to be called. As the guards led him out of the cell, they paused outside the courtroom door and undid his shackles, cuffs and waist chain, enabling him to walk freely into the room, even though one guard kept a tight hand on his arm until they reached the defense table.

"Morning," Dawn whispered, once he had seated himself.

"Hey," he whispered back. "Do you have everything ready?"

"I do," she said, nodding in the affirmative.

"Good," he replied, swallowing back the lump in the back of his throat. "When is it supposed to start?"

"In a few minutes."

Caleb nodded—too nauseous to attempt conversation at that moment as he focused on the front of the room, where the judge would appear at any moment to kick off the hearing. As he nervously moved around in his seat, he tried to imagine something good happening, and couldn't.

Too many horrible things had happened to him in the courts—and while it would have been lovely to have gone into this confident—he knew that the odds were most certainly _not_ on his side for that morning.

"All rise!" The bailiff ordered, as the judge finally made his grand appearance.

His legs shaking as he sat back down, Caleb caught Dawn's forcibly calm gaze and tried to follow suit, but it was nearly impossible as the hearing officially got underway. As expected, Dawn got her chance to present _their_ part of the case first, for which he was grateful.

It would save him a pointless hour of sitting through the prosecution's asinine theories—and would instead give him something positive to start off the morning with. As the judge called her onto the floor to present her case, he found himself leaning foreword in his seat to better pay attention to her.

They had gone over what their angle would be that morning—but somehow it was still terrifying as he watched her pace calmly across the limited amount of space she had, as she gathered her thoughts for the presentation ahead.

"There's a popular saying," Dawn said, "that a person's eyes can be a window to his soul. I don't know if that's true for anyone else in this courtroom, but it is for me. When I look into my client's eyes, I can tell right off the bat if they're lying to me, or if they're being truthful.

With Caleb Rivers, I expected a lot. At the time, I was beginning to help him with some minor little incidences that he had going on at the time, but when I sat down and spoke with him, I could tell from the way he directly met my gaze, that he wasn't anyone who would have a problem telling me the truth."

It was true—he had recruited her for some minor hunting related charges that hadn't required any jail time—and when he had met her, he could instantly feel that she was someone who would have his back, someone who would protect him from the nastiness and the politics that defined the twisted legal system.

"Over time, I've helped him out of numerous tight spots. _Today_, Caleb Rivers sits in this courtroom fighting for his life, his freedom. He was accused of a heinous crime. The crime of kidnapping. A crime that came to fruition when he was accused of transporting Sam and Dean Winchester over state lines.

There was a situation where he had been accused of abusing and neglecting them. He was ultimately found not guilty of those charges later on, but in a desperate move to protect them, he decided to run. Was it the smartest option? No. Was there a better decision to be made? Certainly.

But we are not here debating the decision—we are here to decide if my client should be granted his freedom, and have this charge dismissed. My client, Your Honor," she said, looking directly at the judge, "knows that he did wrong, but he is only asking for fairness. We know that he has to face some sort of retribution for what transpired, but we are asking for the _right_ sentence this time."

After that, she began listing off the different reasons for why the kidnapping charge hadn't been the appropriate one, and why the contempt charge was fairer than the more serious one he was facing.

"The previous judge in this case," she said, "made a serious error when he denied me the right to argue for a better charge at my client's arraignment. What my client did, while some might consider it to be kidnapping, was contempt of court.

There is more evidence to back _that_ up, then there is to back up the _ridiculous_ charge of kidnapping. Kidnapping, yes, as stated in the law, _does_ include a certain amount of running or leaving the state, but when you consider the facts of _this_ case in general, and the pressure that was on my client's shoulders at the time, it begs the question. Was it fair? Or was this a malicious, mean-spirited attack on Mr. Rivers?"

Caleb couldn't argue against that logic—and he hoped that the judge would recognize that for himself, and make the right decision that would grant him his freedom back. He wasn't holding his breath, though, and tried to brace himself for the outcome that would set off a chain of events that he wasn't sure he was ready to handle yet.

"For some reason," Dawn said, "the DA in this town has mounted a _sick_ vendetta against my client. If they're not charging him with murder, they're charging him with fraud. If it's not fraud, it's abuse and neglect when there is _zero_ substantial evidence to back it up. And," she said, continuing on. "If it's not abuse and neglect, it's kidnapping. When will this stop?"

_Once I leave this damn town for good_, Caleb thought darkly, as he shook his head, feeling tears of pure rage and hurt prick the corners of his eyes as he discreetly wiped them away.

"I am not asking for special treatment," she said, as she began to wrap up her statement. "I am, however, asking for fairness for my client. Someone who loves those two boys more than his own life, and who would literally dive into the fire for their lives. What he did might not have been the smartest option, but it was not kidnapping, your Honor. I want the court to recognize that, and to impose a sentence that is _fair_."

After that it was up to the prosecution to make his final impression on the judge before he had to hand down his decision. Caleb, for the most part, tried to tune him out as much as he possibly could. There was nothing that man could say that he hadn't heard before, and it was getting old.

From what he could make out, he was trying to impress upon the judge that, yes, even though Caleb claimed to love the boys and had been acting in their best interests, the law was still the law and when he had failed to abide by what the court had ordered him to do, he had committed the act of kidnapping.

It was the same song that Caleb had heard before—and even though he knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel regardless of what the judge decided, it would certainly make things easier if he would be permitted to peacefully stay in one place.

"I can understand," the judge said, once the prosecutor had finished. "The special circumstances surrounding this case. I have read and reviewed the custody files in this situation, and I understand that Sam Winchester was abducted by an unknown person or persons?"

"Yes," Dawn replied. "Also another reason why he chose to run with them. He didn't want to be separated from them, and he didn't want the kids to be apart from each other if they were placed in separate group homes."

"Alright," the judge said, looking down. "Unfortunately, for me to consider a contempt of court charge replacing the one that is already in place, I have to have more solid proof. As you stated in your opening, there is cause to believe he committed this act. Whether intentional or not."

Caleb shook his head, not even believing what this man was saying. Even though he had come into the hearing with a deep sense of realistic expectations, he had still wanted to hear that, for the first time, someone would be giving him a break.

"I can't dismiss the charge at this time. I will, however, shake his sentence up a little bit. He will get credit for time served, which combined, has been about four months. Three while in custody during his trial, and then one month already served in the state prison. Furthermore, for every week that he goes by without incident, I will take a month off his current sentence."

Not that that did anything—not when he was concerned about the boy's safety—and their ability to stay safe while their numbers were rapidly dwindling. Especially with Jim's stunning death months previously.

"Thank you," Dawn said.

Caleb could tell just from looking at her that she was furious—so what if he took time off his sentence for every good week he had. It was still two years too long, and it would still be months and months behind bars, even if he kept up his good attitude he had been having.

Now he knew what his only recourse would be.

And he absolutely dreaded having to do it.


	9. Chapter 9

Anger.

Fear.

Worry.

Shock.

Caleb wasn't sure which emotion was the most potent—but he was feeling _all_ of those negative ones as he listened to the judge impose a sentence that, to him, was lighter, but in reality hardly made a difference at _all_.

So what if the judge thought he deserved a customized sentence? He still wouldn't be out for months upon months—even _if_ he kept up the good behavior that had sustained him enough to be able to speak with the boys and have a small sliver of contact with them.

It was wrong—all of it was. Dawn had made the best argument possible for him to be granted the appeal and have the charge dropped down to contempt, but somehow the person that had held the _most_ power in determining whether or not he could be granted that reprieve, had disagreed.

Shaking his head in stunned silence, he swallowed back the roll of tears that seemed bound and determined to make their home in the back of his eyelids. It was upsetting, it was devastating that he would have to resort to something that he _never_ wanted to do for those boys.

It wasn't fair to them that they would have to give up everything just to run so he wouldn't be caught—even _then_ the odds of them making a life for themselves on the run, was unlikely. Not unless they managed to find a small town that didn't know who he was, or what people thought he had done, and settle down there.

He was driven out of his thoughts by the firm hand that the guard had placed on his arm, signaling that it was time for them to go. Sighing, he obeyed as he numbly stood, allowing the guard to do what he had to in order to get the show on the road.

"I'll see you later, okay?" Dawn whispered, before the guards led him off.

"Okay," he said, nodding, to show that he had understood.

She would be able to be his cover-up when they staged the escape—as long as she knew where they would be headed—she would be able to effectively lead the authorities _away_ from he and the kids.

Trying to allow that one, small mercy to grace his mind, he allowed the guards to put the restraints back on and drive him back to the prison. At least he wouldn't have to go through much more humiliation after this.

At least, with the promise of an escape, he would be able to be reunited with the boys after nearly a month, and even though their time would have to be spent on the road, they would be together. It wouldn't be perfect, and it would be dangerous, but at least they had each each other to get through the long, bitter nights.

Bobby couldn't believe what he had heard the judge say to Caleb. It was one thing to deny someone freedom based off of legitimate _fact_, but this man had gone above and beyond that, and had denied Caleb his right to freedom based off the lies that the prosecution had spouted, and off a belief that he deserved to be punished.

It was horrific.

It was disappointing.

And it was also scary—especially when he knew that the boys would be the ones paying the ultimate price for the judge's misguided decision. For two kids who had spent nearly their entire lives stationary in one place, and then have to suddenly change everything they'd ever known and go on the run again, it was terrifying for him.

As he walked out of the courtroom and out into the packed hallway of other people who had been attending their own hearings, he tried to imagine what he would say to the boys when he walked through the door.

They, especially Dean, would be hounding him for information on how the hearing had progressed, and how would he be able to sit them down and inform them that they would either have to pack up and move their entire lives onto the road? Or have to sit and endure a painful, long separation from the person that meant so much to them.

"Bobby!"

He had been so engrossed in his frantic thoughts that he had been completely oblivious to Dawn walking behind him. Turning around to face her, he sighed. It wasn't her fault that the judge had been so blind as to deny what was right in front of him, and had set forth a path that he wasn't sure either of them were ready to take on yet.

"Hi," he said, "sorry, I didn't see you for a minute."

"It's okay." She paused, obviously searching out the right words to approach him with. "I'm sorry we couldn't figure this out for him."

Bobby shook his head in simple disbelief of the position that he and the boys had been put in. There was no question that Dean would insist on running, insist on being with the one person besides his brother that he was closest to in this world, but it was the _emotional_ effects of running that he was most concerned about for them.

"So what now?" Bobby asked, feeling at a complete loss as to what to do from there.

"Well, if you want to get things in motion, I'll do what I can to stall everyone."

"Okay."

"Do you want me to go back to the house with you to talk to the boys?"

"If you want to."

Having her support there, would mean the world to him. It wasn't the desired outcome, not in the least, but at least they would be together again. Even if it _was_ on the go.

"Alright. We need to hammer down some final details, and you need to call your friend."

"I will right when we get there."

"Okay."

* * *

Grateful to have her support in going back to the house and facing the boys, Bobby didn't stall like he normally would have, and instead made a straight path back home. Pulling into the garage, he paused briefly to gather his thoughts, before getting out to meet her.

"You ready?" she asked gently, perhaps sensing how stressful this was on him.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

So many things would have to change now—and he was glad that he had Dawn there to help him break the news to the kids—and explain a little of what had happened, even though it was _completely_ unexplainable to him.

As predicated, Dean was waiting right in the kitchen when he walked in through the garage door.

"What happened?" Dean demanded, as he followed Bobby out into the living room, where Sam was sprawled across the sofa, listening to something on TV, which he turned off when he saw that Bobby was safely back.

"Dawn's coming in in a second, and we'll talk about it then," Bobby replied, as he sat down, exhausted on the sofa.

"Why is she here? What happened?"

Bobby hated to see the uncertain look that crossed over Dean's face—hated to see how much of this had really effected him—even though he always put on such a brave front for the rest of the world to witness.

"We'll talk about it," Bobby said, as he heard the back door open. "In a second."

"Hi," Dawn said, as she met Dean's frantic gaze. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

"Yes. What happened, though?" he asked, as he watched Dawn sit down next to Sam, who had remained quiet throughout the tense exchange.

"Well," Dawn said carefully, seeing just how nervous the thirteen-year-old was. "I got my chance to dispute all the evidence that I could-"

"And what did the judge say?"

"He listened to me, and when the time came to make the decision, he said that there was still concrete proof that he...that he...kidnapped you two boys."

"But he didn't take us," Sam said, speaking for the first time, as tears sprang to his eyes. "He would _never_ hurt us!"

"I know," Dawn said gently, "but unfortunately for someone who's not aware of the special circumstances in this case, it's hard for them to see any differently. I'm not saying what the judge did was right, I'm trying to look at it from his angle."

"His angle is _wrong_," Dean said, his voice shaking. "How could he hear all this evidence and still say-"

"I don't know," Dawn admitted, "but I hammered it in that this DA has had it out for Caleb since the beginning, and that's his choice whether or not he wants to believe me or not."

Dean shook his head—in complete shock at what had transpired that morning—he couldn't believe that another judge would make the conscious decision to deny him something that should have been his. Caleb had never done anything to harm them, and somehow everyone else was completely incapable of understanding that.

"But Caleb suffers because of it," Dean said, shaking his head in incredulity.

"Not if we leave," Bobby reminded him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder in a rare show of physical comfort. "You still feel comfortable doing that, Dean?"

"Hell yes," Dean answered without hesitation.

"Sam?"

"Yes," Sam said, as he curled his knees up close to his chest. "I want to see Caleb again, and I don't want to be here if all that's going to happen is he keeps getting charged with stuff."

"Okay," Bobby said, nodding. "That settles it then—but I need you boys to be aware of what will happen once we leave. It won't be like home-"

"I don't give a damn," Dean swore. "I'm sick of losing Caleb, and I'm sick of having to go through this hell every few months the DA decides they want to torture us some more. As long as we're together, as a family, we'll be fine."

He firmly believed that, too. As long as they had each other, as long as they were fighting together, it would be okay. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would be far better than having to deal with the pain of losing someone dear to him.

"Have you figured out where you guys will be?" Dawn asked.

"We'll be driving a few hours at least," Bobby replied, "but we'll probably make a brief stop to rest up somewhere near the state limits."

After that, it was all up in the air. They wanted to get as far from the town (and the state) as they possibly could. It wouldn't be easy—especially when the police would be on the lookout for them—but they would have to make it work somehow, and they all recognized that.

"And then where?" Dawn pressed, clearly wanting to be well-versed on the plan so she would know what to tell the DA when they started asking her the tough questions.

"We'll make a more permanent stop in Iowa. Rest there for the day, maybe, and see what happens."

"Alright. If they ask me, which they probably will, I'll tell them you went somewhere else."

"Will they ask?" Dean asked.

"Probably—especially if they know that I was one of the last people to see him before the escape."


	10. Chapter 10

Adrenaline.

Anticipation.

Excitement.

Fear.

Anxiousness.

Nervousness.

Dean couldn't ever remember feeling such a complexity of human emotion before as he and Sam got their things ready to go for the long journey ahead. They would be going somewhere near the state border for that night, and then continue on their trip in the morning.

To _where_—no one knew for sure—only that they had to leave Minnesota as fast as humanly possible in order to make it more difficult for the police to trace them. It was something that, while Dean vaguely remembered from when he was younger and on the road with their father, was still unfamiliar to him as he went around his room, searching for things to take with him.

Ducking under his bed, he found his duffel bag. The one that he most commonly used for trips and other little outings. Sighing deeply, he moved around his room, taking out all the clothes from his dresser and carelessly stuffing them in the bag.

Next he moved on to the bathroom where he got out his toothbrush, toothpaste and some floss. Even though personal hygiene was the _last_ thing on his mind, he knew that the guys would probably insist on him maintaining a healthy mouth.

After that, he put some personal family pictures in the sides of the bag, wanting to take some touches from home, even though the place that he used to love, was chock-full of memories that he would have done anything to have forgotten.

Minnesota and their home there, had used to be such a healthy and happy place for he and Sam to thrive. Ever since Jim had been killed, that had changed. The memories and the moments that he used to treasure, had been replaced with the ugliness that had encompassed the first few weeks after Jim's death, and the eventual hell they had gone through with CPS and their brutal police counterparts.

On the road.

Even though it would be dangerous and they would have to constantly watch their backs—at least they would have more control over what happened to them. Bobby and Caleb both knew how to conceal themselves, and that was what he tried to hold onto.

It wouldn't be easy—not that it was _before_—but it would be even _harder_ with the knowledge that, in addition to battling the supernatural monsters out there, he would be faced with fighting monsters of the _human_ variety.

Taking one last glance around his room—his old room—now that he wouldn't be living in it anymore, he called it good and went to check on Sam's progress. His room had always been stationed next to his, a request that he had made when they had moved, and one that the guys had honored.

It made him feel safer to know that his little brother was right next door in case anything happened to him—or he needed him for some reason. Sam was standing over his desk, a blank look on his face as he silently clutched his Spiderman—duffel bag.

It was heartbreaking to watch—it was obvious that Sam didn't know _what_ to do—especially with the added burden of knowing that they wouldn't be back for the foreseeable future, and knowing what to pack for such an event, was something that he himself had struggled with when he had first started.

"Need some help, dork?" Dean asked, hoping that the lighthearted attempt at humor, would reach his brother, and he would feel a little better about the nightmare of a situation they were in.

"I don't know—I mean what do I-"

"What do you take?" Dean prompted, to which Sam nodded helplessly. "Anything you want—or anything that can fit into that bag."

"What do you have?" Sam asked quietly, as he watched Dean tentatively pack some of his clothes into his bag for him.

"Clothes, pictures, all the basics."

"Are we _really_ going for good?" Sam asked, as though that fact had somehow escaped him until now. As though the realization that he would be leaving _everything _behind, had just hit him.

"I think so."

Unless a miracle occurred, and they would be allowed to stay in one place if the courts decided to _finally_ grant them a much needed break. Dean, however, couldn't see that happening, and so he knew that their only recourse would be to go, to stay on the road where it would be harder for them to get caught.

It wasn't something any of them wanted—especially Caleb—but Dean knew that it was the only option they had of staying together, of making sure their bonds were never broken again.

"Why won't the courts help us?" Sam said, as he took some things from Dean and started packing them himself.

"Because they don't _know_ what _we _know" Dean said quietly, shaking his head. "Although they could be a little more understanding—or at least _try_ to be."

Even though the judge had no way of knowing what they did—it was still infuriating that someone could be so pigheaded about granting someone something that they rightly deserved. Now, thanks to him, they were being forced to give up everything so they wouldn't be apart anymore.

Something that _could_ have—and _should_ have—been avoided. Feeling hot tears of disappointment and anger pinch the corners of his eyes, Dean hastily turned away from Sam so he could regain his shaken composure. If there was one person that he was _most_ concerned about in running, it was Sam. Out in the open, the YED would have more of a chance to make another move. In one place, (especially one that was well warded against attack), the odds of something happening, were much slimmer.

"At least," Sam said, as they started moving out of his room and downstairs finally. "We'll be able to see Caleb."

"Yeah," Dean said, feeling a small smile interrupt the sadness that had been on his face before. "I know. I can't _wait_ to see him."

If there was one good thing that running presented, it was getting the chance for he and Sam to reestablish their bond with Caleb—something that had been sorely lacking in the last few weeks, and even though it would be a new experience to run—Dean could still feel excitement at being able to see him.

He could hardly stand it until he finally saw him again.

When they walked into the kitchen downstairs, they found Bobby already there. Except for a few bags that held his different clothing and weapons, he was traveling light for the journey ahead. The same couldn't be said for the boys, who had packed as much from home as they possibly could.

"Are you kids about ready?" Bobby asked, as he eyed their carry-on items that they had selected to take with them.

Dean nodded silently, as he effortlessly swung his bag over his shoulder. "Yeah."

"Sam?"

Sam nodded, as he copied his brother's movements. It had been tiring having to go through his room and figure out which things he would leave, and which things he would take. Besides that, he was scared of the unknown, scared of being caught by the police and having more hell rain down on he and his family. "I am."

"Alright, let's go."

Each giving the house one final look, they piled into Bobby's car. Dean took the front seat, a place he usually favored because of the occasional car sickness, and Sam took the backseat in order to stretch out and sleep when he wanted to.

"Where are we headed exactly?" Dean asked, as he watched Bobby make a sharp turn onto the nearest interstate.

"About four hours from here—Willow River—it's a little town that should be easy to blend into until the morning."

"What about Caleb?" Sam asked, as he leaned foreword, resting his arms on the two seats in front of him.

"My friend Jefferson is posing as a CO. When things calm down for the night, they're going to make their move."

It would be too risky to send anyone else to do the deed—Jefferson was one of the few people who had actually managed to survive without having any major charges tacked onto his record. It would be too precarious to send anyone else, and expect the mission to be a success.

"So he won't be where _we'll _be until tomorrow or something?" Dean asked, as he followed along with the conversation.

"Probably not."

"Okay."

Dean could handle that. Just as long as he was assured that he would be able to see him soon, he would be able to survive. As he leaned back in his seat and stared out at all the passing cars, he tried to imagine an alternate reality where they weren't running for their lives, where they were just regular citizens on a long journey.

It was an impossible dream—and one that he wasn't sure he even _wanted_ to have—not if it meant giving up his family for it. Sighing, he reached foreword and turned on the radio, hoping that the music would serve to soothe his frazzled nerves.

"What's that?" Bobby asked, not being familiar with the heavy rock and roll music that Dean and Caleb liked to listen to. It was something that had just never appealed to him before.

"AC/DC," Dean said, rolling his eyes, feeling himself relax a little bit. "Duh."

"Watch your mouth, idjit."

* * *

Caleb had been on edge the entire night. It wasn't that he harbored any doubt about the plan for the night—it was just that it was so frightening. Any number of things could happen, and all of them could end up resulting in either his death, or the death of his friend.

Jefferson—one of Bobby's hunting friends—had already integrated himself inside the prison. He was posing as one of the many faceless corrections officers that had ruled over Caleb's depressing stay inside the prison.

Caleb had laid eyes on him only once or twice before. In the unpredictable hunting world they lived in, any number of people could have agendas that could mean the difference between life, death and disaster. It was for that reason that he chose to distance himself and the boys from hunters in general, and only engage with the ones that he trusted.

They had already planned the escape down to the last letter—it would happen during rec time. It happened at differing times during the week, and on this day, it happened to fall closer to night. It would be the perfect cover-up, especially if he could manage to get past the fence and the other guards, and then have the dark cover him.

That would be his escape card.

A far corner of the fence was rickety—allowing him the chance to slip underneath—after he had staged a fight with Jefferson, who would wait a certain amount of time before getting out himself, and driving him to their agreed upon destination.

"Alright! Time to pack up, guys!" Jefferson yelled, playing his part well as he directed his attention to the crowd in front of him, as he prepared to usher them back to their cells.

"I don't think so," Caleb said, taking a brazen step foreword. "You see, I'm _sick_ and _tired_ of playing by your idiotic rules-"

"You better watch your tongue with me, Rivers," Jefferson snapped, getting right in his face as he acted out what he was supposed to do. "Or you'll find yourself in solitary again."

"Maybe I'll take your tongue out instead," Caleb said, raising an eyebrow in amusement, as he chose that time to aim a right-hook to Jefferson's face.

The results were instantaneous: Other CO's who had been in the prison yard, rushed foreword to assist Jefferson, and make sure he was alright. In the chaos that had immediately ensued, Caleb wasted no time in backing up toward the part of the fence that would grant him freedom.

"Hey!" One yelled, obviously catching on to the fact that Caleb had now reached the fence, and the section that was so unstable.

Increasing his already frenzied pace, he anchored his body as far as possible to the dirt ground and slid his toned body underneath the fence. Once he did—narrowly avoiding the hand that reached underneath to grab him—he made a mad dash through the immense compound that had housed the prison.

Once he managed to find his way around the confusing maze of buildings and wire fencing, it was easy to remember what to do next. A highway bordered the prison compound, and getting on it was easy for him. Especially under the cloak of darkness, as he stuck as close to the ground as he could.

Once he had ran a few miles along the side of the road, he finally stopped under a bride that sounded like it was was well-traveled above him from the sounds of the cars overhead. Leaning against the solid cement wall, he paused to catch his breath and wait for Jefferson.

It didn't take long—once he saw Jefferson's truck pull up beside him—he allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief, as he hurried into the cab.

"You did it," Jefferson said, grinning in complete exultation and adrenaline.

"Thank you."

He owed him so much—this man had put his life on the line to make sure that he could be reunited with the boys—and had made sure that he had managed to escape with his _life_. It was more than anyone had ever done for him, and it was something that he _still_ couldn't believe had worked.

"Let's get you to where Bobby and the kids are."

"Sounds wonderful."

* * *

_Honest opinions!_


	11. Chapter 11

Exhaustion.

Excitement.

Anxiety.

Nervousness.

Fear.

Dean was feeling the _entire_ complexity of human emotion as Bobby's car traveled down the long expanse of highway. It had been a few hours—from his estimation—since they had left their home behind to go on the run from the corrupt law enforcement in Minnesota that seemed _intent_ on making sure their lives were a living hell.

While there wasn't an _inch_ of himself that doubted their decision—especially since it involved their entire family—and their continued separation from Caleb—he was scared. Not for himself, but for his little brother.

Sighing as he readjusted his position in the car, Dean turned his torso around to look at his brother, who had decided to camp out in the backseat where he could rest more easily. By all appearances, Sam _looked_ fine.

He had long since lost the anxiousness that had played a large role in the first hour or two of travel—and was now looking positively _worn out_, as he anchored his body so that it was resting against the sturdy door frame, trying to achieve sleep even if it would prove to be pointless from the adrenaline that was flowing through his young veins.

Turning back around to face the front, he saw nothing but the same stretch of highway that they had stayed on since turning onto the interstate. Car after car passed by them, and while Dean had used to love making a game out of it with Sam, it had lost its appeal with the urgency that surrounded this particular drive.

Running a hand through his tired, sore eyes, he stifled a yawn as he scooted down in his seat, desperate to attempt as much sleep as he possibly could before they reached their stop for the night. The one stop that Caleb would be meeting them at, along with Jefferson, someone who Dean had never laid eyes on, but had quickly become a guardian angel to him.

Besides the near state of perpetual nervousness that he was in, he was also excited. It had been over a month since Caleb had gone to the courthouse for his sentencing, and the last time that Dean had seen him for himself.

Only through phone calls had he been allowed to maintain their tight bond with each other—and while it had been _just_ enough to hold him over until he could get the chance to see him physically, it would still be a welcome relief to be able to see him face-to-face and know that their reunion stood a chance of being somewhat permanent.

He was distracted from his rambling thoughts by the hand that Bobby placed on his knee. Glancing at the hand and then at the face, he turned back toward the window. It had been a long car ride, and while Dean was normally a chatterbox when he was in the mood for it, he had been mostly quiet as he endured the endless amount of worrying and obsessing that his mind had somehow decided to torment him with.

"You doing okay?" Bobby asked quietly, glancing in the backseat where Sam had managed to fully fall asleep.

Dean was glad—at least _one_ of them was free from the burden of being scared—of not knowing what would happen to them now that they were on the run. It was one small mercy that he was grateful his baby brother had been able to have.

Dean nodded, turning away from Bobby to try to gain control over his fractured emotions. It was the product of too many sleepless nights tossing and turning, worrying over whether or not he would get to see Caleb again, and if it would be in one place like he had hoped for, or on the run.

Now it was all coming full circle for him—as he tried his hardest to keep himself from losing it. He had held it together for so long after Caleb had been sentenced to go to prison, and now that he had a chance to sit and do nothing but _think_ about the sequence of events that had led to that moment, he was beginning to feel the kinds of things that his emotions had, mercifully, let him feeling numb to.

Until now.

"I'm just kinda sorta tired," Dean mumbled halfheartedly.

"Kinda sorta?" Bobby asked, with an amused raise of his eyebrow, trying to do _anything_ to make the kid smile. It didn't take an idiot to figure out that he was upset about something, and while he normally never liked to press Dean on the issues he was having, he was concerned.

"Shut up," Dean said with a smirk, as he turned and aimed a weak punch at the hunter's upper arm. It was a banter that he commonly shared with Caleb and Bobby, but it been lacking sorely in recent weeks, and while he wasn't in the mood to necessarily engage in it, it still felt nice.

"Are you doing okay, though?" Bobby asked, returning to the dreaded subject of discussing Dean's thoughts and feelings with him.

"Yeah, I guess," Dean replied noncommittally.

If there was one thing he hated, it was discussing his feelings. It was something that he had never felt entirely comfortable doing—except maybe with Caleb—and that was only because Caleb knew him _so_ well—better than he knew _himself_ sometimes, but it was still difficult diving into that ocean of a mess when even _he_ didn't know how to verbalize his tangled maze of thoughts.

"Are you tired?"

"Yeah."

It had been a long day of getting their things together—and then enduring a long car ride to the motel that they would be staying at for the time being. It was exhausting _physically_, sure, but it was the _emotional_ exhaustion that Dean was struggling with the most.

"Why don't you try getting some sleep?" Bobby suggested, as he switched lanes. "We aren't going to be there for another hour or so."

If there was one thing that he knew to be true about Dean—it was that he would push himself to the absolute breaking point—without a thought for himself or his well being. Sometimes it took the adults, like Bobby, telling him that he needed to crash while he could, that he needed that rest and relaxation while he could have it.

"I'm fine," Dean answered.

His automatic answer when he was, effectively, shutting down the conversation from further discussion.

"Boy, you have some time right now."

"I know. It's cool. I'm _good_."

It was obvious Bobby didn't like that answer, but he didn't comment on it, either. Instead, he remained quiet for a few minutes as he concentrated on his driving.

"Are you excited?" Bobby asked, knowing _that_ question was bound to have more of an impact on Dean than talking about the forbidden topic of his feelings.

"About seeing Caleb?" Dean asked, turning his head around to face the older hunter.

"Yeah—it should be good, right?"

If there was anyone who had desperately missed Caleb—it had been Dean. While he shared a relationship with every single member of his family, it was Caleb who he had always been closest to besides his brother, and Bobby could only imagine the hell the poor kid had gone through with Caleb's continued absences and imprisonments.

"It shouldn't be—it _will_ be," Dean answered firmly.

"I know," Bobby said, smiling gently, glad to see the familiar spark back in the thirteen-year-old when he mentioned Caleb's return.

"How long will we stay there?"

"At the motel?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

It had been so long since he had been forced to do that. Not since when his father was still alive—back when every person was a threat—when every place offered nothing but fear. It had been confusing to him, as a toddler, but he could barely remember any of that now.

"Oh, a few hours after Caleb gets there. Then we'll take off."

"Together?"

"I plan on it."

"Okay, good."

At least they wouldn't have to ever face the sting of separation again—at least Dean would be able to be promised the fact that, no matter what happened, they were in it together now. It was something he wasn't sure he would ever get again, and now that he was _so_ close to it, he could feel excitement and anticipation replace the negativity that had made itself at home in his mind.

"Do you want to stop?" Bobby asked, seeing some signs for some rest areas up ahead. "We can go in and get a burger or something, and then keep going."

"Sure."

* * *

It was well after dark by the time they finally reached the Oasis Meadows Motel. It was the agreed-upon destination where Jefferson would drop Caleb off, and where they would figure out their next moves from. After the filling burger and fries they had indulged themselves in, _both_ boys had immediately fallen asleep.

Even Dean, who had _sowrn_ that he wouldn't give in to rest until they reached the relative safety of the motel room, but it had been something that his body had desperately needed, and had finally gotten when he had worn his defenses down.

When Bobby pulled into the near-empty lot, he almost felt bad for awaking them from their much needed slumber. Wanting to stall the process as much as possible, he kept a sharp eye on them while he went inside the front office to pay, and then, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to interrupt them, he reached over and gently shook Dean's shoulder.

"Dean," he whispered, when he lightly stirred, blinking one eye open wearily. "We're here, kiddo. Time to wake up. You can sleep inside."

Next he got out of the car and opened the backseat door. Sam had long ago abandoned his seatbelt, and had chosen to curl himself up on the whole of the backseat. Smiling at his adorable, sleeping form, Bobby reached over and softly shook him.

"Come on, Sammy, we're here."

Neither of the boys liked being awakened like that, but once they had their feet on the ground, their minds seemed to connect the fact to reality, as they gave the boys a much needed energy boost. Walking shakily, Dean and Sam followed Bobby up the rickety steps to the top floor of the motel, to the suite they would be staying in.

"Did you boys have a good nap?" Bobby asked, as he watched them quietly deposit their things by the door.

Dean nodded, palming his face to squeeze away the evidence of his nap. "Yeah, it was great." Of course being jolted out of a sound sleep, hadn't been his preferred method for waking up, but it had been nice to enjoy it while it had lasted.

"Good. What about you, Sammy?"

"It was good," Sam said, with a shrug, as he dumped his bag uncertainly on the bed furthest from the door. "Um...where do we-"

"Where do you _sleep_?" Bobby asked, seeing the confusion written as clear as day on the nine-year-old's face.

Sam nodded wordlessly, as he quietly unpacked some shirts and pants from the duffel. "Yeah."

"You can sleep on whichever bed you want to. I'm not going to sleep for awhile—I have to make some calls first."

"To who?" Dean asked, as he took over unpacking duty from his brother, who was too confused to really get anything accomplished, as he packed some of his things in the faded dresser that the motel had provided for them.

"Dawn, first of all, and then to Rufus. He was the one who arranged for Jefferson to take this on."

"Do you think he's heard from them at all?"

"Probably not—they won't want to make any stops if they can help it. They'll probably make a straight shot here."

Dean nodded. "Good."

The last thing he wanted was for the police to catch up to Jefferson and Caleb—and haul them _both_ back to jail—it was the worst possible outcome, and so Dean tried to shove it out of his mind the best he could.

"Can I use my blanket on the bed?" Sam asked, looking over at Bobby for his permission.

"Of course you can."

Taking as much as they could from their home, the boys had managed to squeeze their cozy comforters into the supplies they had taken. It was something they both felt more comfortable using, and especially for Sam, who had never known the feeling of sleeping in a motel room before, and so would need the extra comfort that the blanket would provide for him.

"Thanks."

It was agonizing waiting for Caleb to get there. Jefferson had managed to make a brief stop at a gas station, and had called Bobby on the motel phone and had informed him that they were less than an hour away, but that fact didn't make things any easier on Dean, who was chomping at the bit to _finally_ see him after such a long separation.

"You gonna make it?" Bobby joked, seeing Dean pace restlessly across the limited amount of space they had.

It was a vice that he often resorted to when he was anxious about something—especially something like _this_—where the suspense was so bad that he could hardly stand it, as he bit down on his thumbnail anxiously.

"If they don't get here, no," Dean replied, as he halted his pace just long enough to look at Bobby, before resuming it again.

He had waited too long for this reunion—nearly a month—and a month before that, he had had to endure nearly _three_ months of separation from him. It had been much too long to have to wait for something that should have never been an issue, and that fact alone wasn't helping him settle down.

"Just hang in there, kid, he'll be here."

"Not soon enough," Dean contradicted, shaking his head, before glancing over at the bed where Sam had curled himself up in. His little brother had had quite a day, and it wasn't surprising to him that he would be sound asleep, trying to reclaim the rest that he been lacking for a long time.

"He'll be here before you know it."

There was little else that Bobby could do to comfort Dean in that moment—he would calm down once he had laid eyes on Caleb—and they were together as a family again. It was all the poor kid had longed for since CPS had gotten invested in their lives, and had torn them apart by their careless actions.

"I know."

By the time a glowing pair of headlights finally reached through the heavily curtained window, Dean had a hard time controlling his reaction. Even though he had no proof that it was them that had arrived, he knew that it pretty much _had_ to be.

Unless fate _really_ hated him.

When he heard a double pair of footsteps land across the stairs, he tensed. If there was any doubt before that it was them—it had been eased. Finally, he would be able to be reunited with Caleb, and have them be a family again.

An unconventional family—but one that _could_ and _would_ survive through some of the harshest trials and circumstances. Trading exultant looks with Bobby, he waited for that door to open.

When it did and Caleb walked in behind Jefferson, Dean almost couldn't believe it as he listened to Caleb update Bobby briefly on their journey from the prison to there, before he finally turned his attention to the anxious kid in front of him.

"Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to come and give me a giant hug?"

Dean didn't need asking twice as he eagerly moved foreword to give his guardian a big hug. In that moment, all of his worries and all of his fears melted away. He knew that if they stayed together and fought as a family, they would be alright.

"How are you doing, bud?" Caleb whispered, wanting to enjoy as much of a private moment with him as he could, even though that thought wasn't entirely realistic when they were in a room full of people.

"Better now," Dean said, as he wiped away some last minute tears that had decided to make their appearance known then.

Caleb nodded, pushing up the sleeves of his black button down shirt. Something he normally wore around the house. "Same here. Now that I'm not stuck in that annoying as hell prison."

Dean nodded, clearly not comfortable having that brought up when it was still so fresh in his mind. "Just..just don't ever do that again."

"Do what?"

"_Leave,"_ Dean said with a weak scoff. "I can't handle this anymore."

"I know," Caleb said, nodding. "I'll try my hardest not to have anything else happen."

It would be trickier now. The cops would be looking for him now, and he knew that every single move he mad from then on out, would have to be made with the knowledge that the cops would be searching for them.

It was scary; it was frightening, but it was something that he had doomed himself to when he had made the conscious choice to take a stand and break himself out of something that was hurting his family, and out of a deep, deep love for the boys.

"Okay. How did it go?"

"Went good," Caleb said quietly, "I'll tell you _all_ about it later, okay?"

Dean nodded. "Alright."

"Caleb!"

Sam had obviously awoken from his deep sleep by all the noise that had suddenly slammed down on the motel room. Running straight for his beloved guardian, he was rewarded with the giant hug that Caleb gave him, as he picked him up.

"How are you doing, Sammy Boy?" he asked, using one of his more recent nicknames for him.

"G—Good!" Sam said with an hysterical laugh, as Caleb started tickling his sides. "S—Stop!"

"I don't know," Caleb said, mock-thoughtfully, as he turned to Dean. "Should I, Dean?"

"Say yes!" Sam shrieked, as Caleb continued his monster tickling.

"Hmm..." Dean said, pretending to give the matter serious thought. "If you say that I am the _best_ big brother _ever_."

"You heard him, Sammy," Caleb said, grinning. "Tell him. Tell him he's the best big brother ever."

"Never!" Sam shouted, as tears of laughter trailed down his cheeks.

"Okay, your decision," Caleb replied solemnly, as he continued tickling him, now moving to his stomach. The spot where Sam was the most ticklish.

"Okay! Okay! Dean's the best big brother ever!"

Finally stopping the tickling, Caleb settled for holding Sam close as the child wrapped his arms around his neck, clearly not wanting to let go for anything in the entire world. It had been too long since he had seen him, and especially with the added trauma of knowing that he had been in prison, and had been sentenced to do hard time.

"Are you okay?" Caleb asked, seeing the look on Sam's face.

"You promised," Sam said quietly, "that you wouldn't ever leave again. You promised me that before."

When Caleb had gotten home after his disastrous murder trial had ended, he had made a promise to Sam that he wouldn't ever be gone that long again, and while he had tried his hardest to keep that promise, it hadn't been possible for so many different reasons.

"I know," Caleb said gently, as he paused in his speech to wipe some tears away from his eyes, "but it was out of my hands, buddy. I didn't _want_ to leave you, _or_ your brother," he added, looking back at Dean. "But it was a situation I was powerless to stop."

"I know—I just missed you."

"And I missed you, too. I missed you and your brother so much that it _hurt_ sometimes, but I'm here now, and as long as the cops don't catch us, I'm not going anywhere again."

"That's right," Dean said quietly, as he accepted the arm that Caleb looped around his shoulders, pulling him close. "We won't let them catch us, will we?"

"We'll do our best."

* * *

_What did everyone think of the reunion?_


	12. Chapter 12

Bliss.

Exultation.

Excitement.

Euphoria.

Happiness.

_Relief._

Instead of the near perpetual state of devastation that had taken up residence in Dean's mind—the thoughts and feelings that he was relishing in—were nearly all positive, as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that, for the first time in _weeks_, they were being afforded the chance to relax and truly _breathe_ for the first time since Caleb's chaotic and traumatizing arrest.

It wasn't perfect—but nothing ever _was_ anymore.

Come morning, Dean knew that they would have to pack up and leave to avoid the police finding them, and separating them again. It was a harsh new reality that he hadn't fully wrapped his brain around yet, but it was something that he was determined to put on the back burner of his mind.

At least for that one night.

That night was _all_ about reconnecting with Caleb—even if it was in the impersonal setting of a motel room—and even though they were now living with the fear of someone discovering them, and reporting them to the authorities.

People who _couldn't_ understand—or _wouldn't_ understand—and had put their family in danger because of it. Even though the idea of running had been deeply disappointing for Dean, and terrifying for Sam, in the end, it didn't matter as much anymore.

As long as they were together—still pulling for the same cause—and were still a family. A family that, no matter what crap came their way, still pulled through every single time. As hard as the current situation was, Dean didn't have a single doubt that they would be alright as long as they were together.

So much had happened and in such a short amount of time. After Caleb had returned and Jefferson had left, Bobby had gone out briefly to find dinner for all of them, while Caleb stayed behind with the boys, desperate for some much needed rest.

Even though he knew that his prison sentence wouldn't be permanent—it had still been difficult to obtain any lasting sleep while he had been locked in that single cell—and it had been even worse when he had counted in his fears for the boys, and the fear that he would be caught in his crazy escape attempt.

Luckily the exact opposite had happened—and he had been able to stage the perfect breakout, and had been able to be reunited with the two most important people in his life.

Even though he would have much rather preferred sleeping on his own bed back home, he knew that reality was far from possible at the moment, as he tried to take solace in the fact that he could rest at _all_, and with a much higher degree of success than the hard, lumpy cot that the prison had seemed to think passed off for a suitable bed. It could have been his nerves, his anxiousness in seeing the kids again, but whatever it was, Caleb had been sorely lacking in the sleep department, and was excited to reclaim it as his own again.

"Will the police find us?"

Snapping one eye open, he looked over at Sam, who had decided to sit himself on the edge of Caleb's bed, as he looked at him with those large, pleading eyes of his. In that instant, Caleb felt _terrible_ for the poor kid.

In the space of a single day, he had gone from having a loving, stable home, to being forced on the run from a brutal police force who had the power and resources to track them to the ends of the earth, if they needed to.

It was too much to pile on _anyone_, but especially a kid who had still retained much of his original innocence and curiosity. It gutted Caleb on the best of days, but on days like this, where the evidence of their decision was right in front of him, it was horrible.

"Not if we're careful," Caleb replied softly, as he scooted his body over to allow Sam a chance to get closer to him. "We checked—or Jefferson did—and we weren't followed by anything."

That had been a pressing concern of Caleb's while they had been embarking on their illegal journey. If anyone, even a passing pedestrian were to see him, it would take them all of two seconds to find a phone and report it.

Thanks, in large part, to Jefferson's experience in dodging enemies of both the supernatural _and _human kind, their trip had remained largely uneventful. It had been hard, though, especially when he was brutally reminded of the two innocent lives who would be affected if something _else _happened.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked, glancing over at his big brother, who had remained mostly silent throughout their conversation, quietly absorbing all the information that Caleb was divulging to them.

"One hundred," Caleb said, as he pressed a kiss to Sam's forehead. "Percent."

"Okay," Sam said with a giggle, as he playfully batted Caleb's hand away. "I'm glad you're back, anyway."

"Me too, kiddo."

That had been the _hardest_ part of his confinement—leaving the kids behind. For eight years, he had been a near constant fixture in their lives—and for that to go away so suddenly, had not only been devastating for _them_, but for himself as well.

"What time are we leaving?" Dean asked, getting up from his place at the table to get on Caleb's other side.

"_Early,"_ Caleb said, with a playful groan, as he looked back and forth at the kids. "Like, _school_ early."

"Eew," Sam said, sticking his tongue out. "We can't sleep in?"

"It'd be better to move earlier before the people that own this place, realize that an escaped convict is hiding out here."

"True," Dean said, not able to deny the logic in that decision. "So we have to get up pretty early, then?"

Caleb nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face, exhausted just at the thought of it. "I'll wake you both up when it's time to hit the road."

"O—okay," Dean said, with a barely suppressed yawn.

"You getting tired?" Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow in question as he turned his body around in the limited space he had, to glance up at the spent thirteen-year-old.

"Nope," Dean replied stubbornly.

"Dean," Caleb said firmly. "You're tired. I _know_ you."

"I'm fine, though. I want to keep talking."

It had been so long—or so it had seemed like it—since he and Caleb had had the chance to sit down and have a face-to-face conversation. It wasn't anything that Dean wanted to miss, and so he fought the temptation to sleep for as long as he could.

"We will, but you need to rest."

"If I say no?" Dean asked teasingly, feeling himself fall back into their familiar banter with each other. It was a feeling that he wasn't ever sure he would be able to reclaim again, and he was glad that it was coming back so naturally for him.

"You won't get the last piece of pie in the morning."

* * *

By the time Bobby walked back in with their dinner, their stomachs were ravenous as they protested the excitement of the last hour or two by demanding food to satisfy them. The guys and the kids were both happy to oblige them with the delicious food Bobby had found.

"That was _awesome_," Dean said, as he regretfully finished off the last of his food.

"Yeah, it was," Caleb agreed, "are you guys getting tired yet?"

They would be sleeping in the same room that night—it would look too suspicious if Bobby were to suddenly get another room for himself—when two boys would be suspiciously sharing the same room seemingly by themselves.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head resolutely. "I'm not tired."

"Yeah, _right_," Dean said, with a smirk. "You better rest up before we have to leave in the morning."

It would be early—according to Caleb—and Dean knew better than _Sam_ did, how important it was to rest up before such an emotionally exhausting trip.

"I can sleep in the car," Sam pointed out.

"Not too well. Caleb and Bobby are going to be in the front, and you'll have to share the back with your awesome brother," Dean contradicted.

"Whatever," Sam conceded, not wanting to give in when he was so happy to finally see Caleb again, but also not willing to deny his body a chance to rest up while it had the chance.

"Thank you, bud," Caleb said gratefully, glad that a Sam-like meltdown had been averted, as he leaned foreword so Sam could kiss his cheek.

"No problem," Sam said flippantly, exhibiting such a typical Dean-like response that Caleb laughed. "When is _he_ going to bed, though?" he asked, looking over at his older brother.

"Very soon," Bobby promised, ignoring the outraged look that Dean passed over to him, clearly not in agreement with that plan at _all_.

* * *

Even though Dean had initially resisted the idea of going to bed early, he couldn't deny how exhausted he was from all the excitement that he had had that evening. The absolute highlight had been to watch Caleb walk through that door behind Jefferson, and their reunion.

It had only been a little over a month since Dean had seen him—but it had felt like a _lifetime_ in reality—as he remembered the utter joy he had felt when he had hugged him, like that hug had cemented the belief that it was really _real_, instead of an impossible dream.

But now he was tired.

His body was worn out from the euphoria that he had experienced that night—and while he would have loved to have sat up longer and conversed with Caleb, he couldn't deny how wonderful it would feel to sink his body down into that warm, comfortable bed.

Due to the limited number of beds that the single room offered, Dean and Sam shared a bed while Bobby took the couch, that conveniently, pulled out into an _actual_ bed, and Caleb took the bed right next to the boys'.

"Are you still awake?" Dean whispered, turning over on his side to face the direction of Caleb's bed.

"Yeah. Are you?" Caleb joked.

Even in the pitch darkness of the room, Dean could see the smile on Caleb's face. Even if their conversation would have to be a quiet one, at least they were getting the chance to have it, something that Dean had wanted since they had first seen each other.

"Fully."

"Good," Caleb said, shaking his head. "It was a big day, wasn't it?"

"Totally. I was _so _excited to see you. It felt like you would _never _get there."

It was the absolute truth—the time before Caleb had arrived at the motel—had been among some of the most anxious moments that Dean could ever remember having. It had been nerve-wracking to know how close he was to seeing him, and then have the moment be so delayed.

"And then when I did?"

"It felt like everything would be okay again—like everything was back to normal. You know, as long as we're together, the four of us, it will be okay. That's what I felt, and that's what I still feel like."

"I know the feeling. Sometimes, the thought of being back with you two _brats_," he said with a quiet laugh, "was how I got through that time in that cell. Even though _I_ knew I hadn't done anything to deserve it, it was still hard."

"Yeah. When Bobby-" Dean hesitated, as he used a trembling hand to wipe some of the incoming tears away, "when he walked through those doors _without_ you, I knew that something had happened, and it _killed_ me."

It had been horrific to wait with Sam while Bobby had gone with Caleb to his sentencing. It had been stressful imagining everything that could have been going on, and when Bobby had walked through the door without Caleb in tow, it had destroyed Dean inside, because he knew then what had happened.

"Dawn made as good of an argument as she could, but the judge was too pigheaded to listen to her. To _him_, I was the guy who had directly defied those CPS jerks, and kidnapped you kids. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, but I know that's what he was thinking."

"_Unbelievable,"_ Dean said with a quiet scoff.

"I know. When he said that I was going to prison for _two years_, I felt numb. It didn't register until the court deputies took me out in handcuffs. Even though I knew it wouldn't be that long until I got out again, it was still difficult for me to process."

"Same here. All I did," Dean said, as his mind unwillingly recalled that dark period before they had run. "For a solid _month_, was shut myself off in my room. It wasn't until Bobby pretty much _forced_ me out, did I start coming out again."

"He told me you started at that new school. How was it?" Caleb asked, as he used his arm as a pillow for his head, as he faced Dean.

"It was good. The kids were cool. The girls were _great_," he added, with a small smile. "I knew I would be leaving soon, so I didn't put as much effort in it as I probably could have."

It had been nice to go back to school, but Dean knew that it most likely would not have been a permanent fit, anyway. It was right before Caleb's appeal, and while he had hoped that the new judge would see things in their favor, he had been realistic.

"Right," Caleb said. "It would be hard to put forth any of yourself when you knew that you wouldn't be there to see the end result."

"Exactly."

It wasn't right—none of it was. For so many years, Caleb had been put under the mistaken impression that they had managed to beat the odds, that for the first time, a hunting family could exist and thrive under a normal roof.

It had been a reality that they had lived with for nearly nine years—and while it hadn't been perfect—it had been manageable. Ever since Jim had died, though, everything had changed. The demons had upped the stakes, and their lives had been put under greater jeopardy.

"I'm sorry that it had to come to this-"

"Don't be," Dean said, "it's not your fault that those people refused to see the truth."

"I know, but it's not fair to you or to your brother."

"We'll be okay. It won't be easy, but it will be alright."

And Dean really believed that—as long as they had each other, as long as Caleb was free from being put behind those horrific bars, they would be okay.


	13. Chapter 13

"Time to wake up."

"No."

"Dean, come on," Caleb said, as he turned on the bedside lamp on the nightstand that had been stationed directly between the two beds of theirs that they had slept in during the night.

"I'm _tired_," Dean groaned, as he reached out a blind hand to push Caleb's hand away, which had been gently shaking his shoulder, egging him to full awareness for the journey ahead for the day.

It had been such a nice sleep—surprising considering that he never normally slept that well when he wasn't in his own bed—but he was still exhausted. The events of the night before, were still fresh in his mind, and after his late night talk with Caleb, he hadn't fallen asleep right away.

Now he was being rudely awakened in order to get back on the road to avoid unwanted attention from the harsh police force who seemed intent on making sure their lives stayed and remained a living hell.

It wasn't fair—and in that instant—Dean was feeling a little bit of rebelliousness seep into his system, as he turned his body over on his side and away from Caleb, not that it would do much good in the long run, but he was determined to stay stationary for as long as he could.

"I know," Caleb said softly, as he took the covers off the stubborn teen, "but we _have_ to go. I already let you sleep in while we packed everything up."

In an effort to let the two tired boys sleep in longer, Caleb and Bobby had decided ahead of time to make sure everything was packed and ready before they woke the kids up. Even though it had been a smart idea, apparently Dean didn't think so.

"Can't I stay here for a few more minutes?"

"What's wrong?" Caleb asked, as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Didn't you sleep good last night?"

"When I finally fell asleep, yes."

"What time was that?"

"I don't know," Dean said quietly. "I'm just tired this morning, that's all I know."

Caleb nodded, torn between what to do. If there was _anyone_ who needed the rest, it was the two boys, but he also realized that they had to get on the road before they drew attention to themselves, and before the motel company realized that he was hiding out there.

"It's been too much, hasn't it?"

Dean nodded in response, as he drew the covers around himself again. He wasn't ready to face this day, he wasn't ready to admit defeat and get up from the bed that had been the source of his obtaining the sleep that he had needed.

"You've been so strong. Not just for yourself," Caleb said gently, "but for your brother, haven't you?"

"Not really," Dean whispered sleepily, his voice cracked and raw from not using it for several hours.

"_I_ think you have. You and Sam have _both_ been brave, and sometimes being so brave means that you refuse to allow yourself to feel all the things that you _need_ to feel sometimes, and when you finally do that, it's too much emotionally _and_ physically, right?"

"I guess. I don't know."

"I want you to sleep, Dean, you _both_ need it, but we can't risk them seeing us."

"When can I sleep next?" Dean asked, as he finally admitted defeat and blearily sat up in bed, rubbing his sore and tired eyes, as he focused on Caleb.

"When we make our stop. It shouldn't be _too_ long."

"Where are we going?"

"Iowa."

It was the closest state next to Minnesota, and it was the one that they had chosen to rest up in briefly, before moving on. It wouldn't be a long drive, perfect for the boys to become more acclimated to spending longer hours in the car.

But like this motel—and the eventual stop in Iowa—it wouldn't be permanent. Nothing ever could be anymore, not when they could be seen and reported at any second. It was a harsh new reality that Caleb had been used to from his early hunting days, but one that the kids had yet to experience.

"What's in Iowa?" Dean asked, as he reached for his sweatshirt.

"A few cases that Bobby was interested in. Other than that, just a place to stop and stretch our legs for a little while."

It was only five hours from Minnesota—and would offer the boys a chance to rest before making the next stop. The kids had always been good travelers, and Caleb hoped the same would hold true while they spent increasingly longer hours traveling.

"Oh. Can I help?" Dean asked after a second.

"On the cases?"

Dean nodded, as he watched Caleb walk around to the other side of the bed to wake a grouchy Sam up. The kid was always grumpy in the mornings, and showed that clearly with the way he stomped around the room, gathering up the few things that Caleb and Bobby had forgotten.

"We'll see. It depends on what kind they are."

"Alright."

* * *

Even though Sam and Dean had become used to riding in the car for long stretches of time when they went to visit Ellen and Bill, it was still hard to adjust to the knowledge that this would be their _life_ from then on out, as long as the cops were still looking for them.

The added weight of having all their things stuffed into the trunk, was also hard. In direct response to his tiredness, Dean didn't say much as he scooted himself as far down in his seat as he could, hoping to doze for a little while before they reached the next motel they would be staying at.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, clearly bored and looking for something to entertain himself with, and bugging his brother was something that he had _always_ resorted to in the past, when he was getting restless.

"Sleeping," Dean mumbled, as he turned his head away from the source of the talking, and toward the window.

Even though he had never really favored sleeping in the car—and had always liked sleeping where he could be lying down—it had been shockingly easy to come by. Either his body was more worn out than he had originally thought, or his brain was deciding to give him a reprieve by allowing him the blessed rest.

"No, you're not," Sam said, giggling. "You're talking to me."

"Then why did you ask?" Dean asked, shaking his head in faint amusement.

"Because," Sam said simply. "I'm bored."

"Find something to entertain yourself with."

He should have known it wouldn't be that easy—not when Sam had always relied on him to make his boredom go away—and in the car, Dean was usually an expert at that. From making games out of the passing cars, to playing pointless trivia games that always seemed to fascinate his little brother.

"But can't we play a game together?" Sam pleaded, inching as close to his brother as the restraining seatbelt would allow.

"Like what?"

"I Spy? Or—or that quiz thing you used to play with me?"

Dean sighed, palming his face. "I Spy...you being annoying. Does that help?"

"No. A _real_ I Spy game."

Dean shook his head in astonishment; sometimes his brother could be adorable and someone that he loved to be with, or he could be someone annoying like he was being right now. "Will you be satisfied if I play for a _few_ minutes?"

"Yes."

"And you won't bug me if you get bored again?"

"No."

"Pinkie swear," Dean said, holding out his pinkie for Sam to make the binding contract with him.

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, as he effortlessly hooked his finger with his big brother's. _"Now,_ can we play?"

"Yep."

They played the game for awhile until Sam seemed better—Dean was grateful that it hadn't taken much to appease his little brother. Looking out the window, he saw the sun begin to steadily decline, and wondered when they would be at their next destination.

It had been awhile since they had passed the cheery sign welcoming them to the state. Either the guys were looking for a relatively safe looking motel to crash at, or they wanted to venture further into the state.

"When are we going to be there?" Sam asked, taking the words right out of Dean's mouth.

"Very soon," Bobby promised, as he made a sharp turn off the highway, for the first time in what seemed like forever.

"_How_ soon?" Sam pressed.

"In about fifteen minutes," Caleb answered. "You getting anxious to get out?"

"Yeah."

"I bet. We'll be there soon."

"Is the thing you're hunting, here?" Dean asked, as he stretched his body as much as he could in the tiny space that he was in.

"Most likely," Bobby replied. "I have to gather some more research, but probably."

"Do you know if I can do anything yet?"

"With the hunt?"

"Yeah," Dean said with a nod, as he rested his arm on the window.

"Probably," Bobby said with a shrug, as he glanced over at Caleb for his take on that issue.

"Yeah," Caleb replied, in response to the inquiring gaze that Bobby was giving him. "I don't see why not. It just, like I said back at the motel, depends on what it is."

"If it's a spirit?" Dean asked, desperate to get his hands dirty in another case.

"Yeah, that should be fine."

"If it's anything _else_?"

"We'll have to evaluate what, then," Caleb answered.

"Okay."

* * *

The sun had just set by the time the guys reached the motel they would be staying at. It was larger, something that brought a small measure of comfort to Dean and the guys, who realized that it would be harder for them to be spotted in a more condensed area.

Their room was at the top floor—another reason why Dean was beginning to favor the place—as he dumped his bags by the furthest bed from the door. A trick that Caleb had taught him so he and Sam would be out of the line of fire in case anything happened to break into their room.

"What do you guys think?" Bobby asked, as he watched as the two boys observe every square inch of the room.

"I like it," Dean said, turning back to Caleb and Bobby, and nodding his head in confirmation. "It's nice."

"Me, too," Sam said simply. "It's better than the car," he added with a laugh.

"It is," Caleb agreed, as he set his own things down. "You guys want to rest up before we eat?"

"What are we having?" Dean asked.

"Pizza, or if Bobby can get it, some Chinese."

The boys loved pizza—but Caleb was hoping for something different for a change.

"I like pizza," Sam said, as he took one look at their new bed and flopped down on it, so glad to have something soft to lay his body on.

"I know you do," Bobby said, as he teasingly ruffled his hair. "I think if you could swing it, you'd be a pizza yourself."

"Eew," Sam said, shaking his head. "Then I'd be all gooey and cheesy."

"So where's your research?" Dean asked, itching to get his hands on the case, and see if it was possible for him to go on the job or not.

He was secretly hoping the answer would be _yes_—he was anxious to distract himself with the excitement of a new case, and was hoping that it would be something that the guys would think was safe for him to go on.

"Right here," Bobby said, as he dug out a manila folder from his luggage. "I first got wind of this thing here."

"That's why we came here, right?" Dean said, as he took a seat at the shaky center table that Bobby had set up his research.

"Partially, yes."

"Okay," Dean said, as he accepted the paper that Bobby held out for him. "So what's the scoop?"

The hunter in him was dying for some action—desperate for something to hunt after such a long hiatus. The logical part of him—the one that Caleb had worked hard on to hone the research skills needed to successfully complete a hunt, wanted to suss out the situation before running right into the line of fire.

"Some scattered disappearances in the woods around this place."

That could be any number of things. Monsters, which was the more likely option, or a spirit of some type that had met its grisly end in the forest, for some reason.

"Hmm," Dean replied thoughtfully, as he rested his hand underneath his chin. "What else?"

"The disappearances have happened over a period of time—it hasn't happened overnight."

"Is there a set time?" Caleb asked.

"No—and that's what makes me think it's not a spirit. Usually there's a pattern with those beasts. With this, though, there's really nothing to define it."

"Have any of the victims been found?" Dean asked, glancing up from the papers to give his achy neck muscles a break.

"Only one so far—the body was mangled so badly that they had to rely on dental records just to ID it."

"Oh," Dean said, making a face, as he traded disgusted looks with Sam, who had been listening closely to their conversation. "So if it's not a spirit-"

"It's either a really hungry person. Or it's a monster."


	14. Chapter 14

Analyze.

Research.

Focus.

Hunt.

It had been awhile since Dean had been entrusted to go on a job—not since when Caleb had been in jail and Rufus had given Bobby the case that he and Sam had helped him on. The strict routine that Dean followed when a new hunt was up on the plate, hardly varied except for when it concerned the _type_ of monster that they were hunting.

That was the big question mark.

The official reports from the police and media, offered little as to what could be mangling the victims so far beyond recognition that they needed dental records to properly ID them. It could be anything. A spirit, an animal, or a monster.

In Dean's experience, it could be any one of the three. Or a combination of both. It was confusing, and that was what he loved, having to work his mind through something that was so utterly bizarre, and working the pieces of the puzzle to form a picture that made sense, and would end up saving the lives that didn't even realize _needed_ it.

This one promised to be quite unlike any they had ever gone on before. For one, their movements would have to be more cautious when Caleb came to help them, and it would be their first on the run.

The last thing they needed was someone discovering them and having Caleb be hauled away again. It made Dean sick thinking about it, so he tried _not_ to as he focused on the complicated maze of research available to he and the guys.

"When did the first killing start?" he asked, as he tiredly scrubbed a hand over his face.

He wasn't used to this level of tiredness that was currently presenting itself to him. Either it had been a rush of adrenaline that had accompanied the move, or it was the fact that his body was trying to catch up with all the trauma that it had suffered through, but he was struggling.

"About a month ago. A group of hikers were out around the forest around here, and they failed to return at their scheduled time."

"And they found them?"

"One of them—the other two were never found. The one that they _did_ find, they had to wait until they had all the medical records to properly ID him."

Dean nodded, swallowing back the role of bile that rose in the back of his throat when his mind unwillingly projected an image of the mangled body that he would have been perfectly fine _without_ seeing. "Same MO as all the other ones?"

"Seems to be, from what I can tell."

It was _definitely_ a mystery—one that Dean was only too happy to help solve—it would get him out of the motel room for a few hours, and it would hopefully help work his brain to do something _other_ than worry and obsess like it had been prone to doing.

"Do you think this is something _he_ can go on?" Caleb asked, ignoring the exasperated look that Dean threw him.

The last thing he needed was for the guys' overprotective natures to kick in and deny him the chance to do something other than sit around and wait for the next tragedy to fall. Sighing impatiently, he looked over at Bobby as he silently debated the question, obviously taking _it_ (and Dean's safety) seriously.

"Right now, I don't see why not. It doesn't sound like anything we _can't_ handle. That could change at any second, but this sounds like either a Wendigo, or a spirit of some kind."

"He's never handled a Wendigo before," Caleb pointed out, as he balanced his foot on the table, which Dean jokingly pushed down.

"One of us will be there as backup," Bobby reminded him. "If it looks like anything we won't be able to pull off, we can always leave him back with Sam. One of us will have to be here with him, anyway."

"With Sam?"

"Yeah."

"True."

"So," Dean said hesitantly, as though he were afraid of the answer, "can I go...or not?"

"We'll take it a day at a time," Caleb replied. "For right now, yes, but if it turns into something you haven't had the training for, we'll ease off."

"But the only way to get the experience is to _actually_ do it-" Dean tried to argue.

"Yes," Caleb agreed calmly, "but you need to learn _how_ to kill whatever it is that's out there. It won't work to get field experience until you've learned all the steps in training."

Dean shrugged, not willing to deepen the argument. Not with Caleb, and not when he was so happy to have him back. "Alright, fine."

"So you want to split up for this one?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah," Caleb said, nodding. "You take Sam with you to interview the right people, and Dean and I will go explore around the forest a little bit."

"Can we go tonight?" Dean asked, clearly chomping at the bit to get some much needed action after the monotony of staying in the car all day and afternoon.

"No," Bobby said with a laugh, "it's too late right now. _But_," he added, seeing Dean's face fall with the knowledge that their adventure would have to wait. "We'll go first thing, I promise."

"What can _I_ do?" Sam asked.

"You," Bobby said, "are going to go with me to talk with the family's of the people that died."

"Okay," Sam said, shrugging. "What do I do?"

"Nothing—you can sit there and listen—and maybe ask a question or two. For the most part, though, you need to stay quiet."

At nine, Sam hadn't had the right training to interview the victims or their family's. That would come at a later stage in his training, when he would be at an age to appear older than he really was, and when he emotionally mature enough to handle that task.

"Okay. What about them?" he asked, looking over at his other guardian and Dean.

"We're going to be in the woods where all this happened," Caleb explained. "We're going to look around and see if we can pinpoint what exactly is causing this."

"Will you be able to know?"

"Hopefully," Dean said. "You can never tell, though. Sometimes it has to be right in your face before you make any progress."

From dear experience, he knew that to be true. Sometimes a hunt would seem pointless, and then the answer would drop down into their laps, as though it had been holding out on them and had decided at _that_ time to give them a break.

"When are we going to do it?"

"Early," Bobby said. "We want to get a good start before the sun sets."

Due to the winter climate, the sun had started setting earlier, and the guys needed to make some kind of progress before it got too dark too early.

"Okay."

"So we gotta head to bed so we can be nice and refreshed in the morning," Caleb said, effectively shutting down any further conversation related to the hunt.

"Fine," Sam groaned, with a comedic roll of his eyes before he hopped off his chair, and walked around the table to give Caleb a tight hug goodnight. "Night," he said.

"Goodnight, Sammy," Caleb said, as he returned the hug. "Sleep tight."

"You too."

Watching with keen, observant eyes as Sam, first disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, and then came back out and climbed into bed, Caleb sighed, wiping the tired soreness out of his eyes. It had been a long day.

"You about ready to hit the sack?" Caleb asked, looking over at Dean, who looked just as exhausted as he felt.

"Sure."

"We'll get some breakfast," Bobby said, as he moved toward the couch/bed that he would be occupying. "And then we'll start."

"Sounds good."

* * *

True to their words, Caleb and Bobby woke early the next morning in anticipation of starting the day (and hopefully figuring out what was causing the string of bizarre murders in their area). It was disconcerting to know of the brutality in which the victims had been discovered.

It was something that Dean had never really dealt with before in his few short years of hunting—and although he knew that he would have heavy backup with Caleb and Bobby managing the helm, it was still making him nervous, as he quietly moved around the room, getting ready for the day ahead.

"What time is your interview?" Caleb asked, as he started packing some provisions in a backpack in case of emergency.

"Around ten," Bobby replied. "What time are you guys headed out?"

"Pretty soon. You're taking Sam with you, right?"

It was absolutely out of the question to leave him alone in the motel room while they conducted their hunt—and since going out into the woods was, to Caleb, far too dangerous when they didn't know what they were dealing with yet, he would have to go with Bobby to his interview.

"Yes."

"Okay. Dean," he said, looking over at the thirteen-year-old as he got dressed. "You almost ready to hit the road?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Sam had been following their progression around the motel room—it was interesting to watch—and it was also scary. Even though he had gotten over his initial fear of the hunting that his family did, it still never failed to give him a chill when he realized that his family would be headed out to go kill something _evil_.

"I want to go with you guys," Sam said, as he hung around Caleb and Dean uneasily. "Please?"

"Why do you want to go?" Dean asked, as he stopped what he was doing to look down at his little brother.

"I don't know..." Sam said uncertainly. "I just don't want to go to the interview. It will be _boring_."

He would have much rather preferred going through the woods with Caleb and Dean, instead of going to the interview with Bobby.

"_Dude-"_ Dean began, rolling his eyes, but was intercepted by Caleb.

"Sammy, listen," he said calmly, as he bent down to his level to make sure that Sam was _really_ listening to him. "I _want_ you to go with us, but this is about keeping _you_ safe, okay?"

"Why won't it be safe?"

"Because we don't know what's out there. With Dean, he's had a lot more experience than you've had because he's been doing this a little bit longer than you have."

"How will I get the experience, then?"

"You'll get it," Caleb assured him, "but it will be done _safely_, alright?"

Sam nodded, after a moment of silent consideration. It was obvious that he was trying not to get himself in trouble with his attitude, and Caleb was appreciative of his efforts. "Okay."

"Thank you," Caleb said. "I know that you haven't had the best time lately, but instead of arguing with me, you chose to listen. That was the right response."

Sam smiled, glowing with the praise that he had just received from Caleb. "Thanks."

Caleb laughed. "I love you, Sammy."

"Love you, too," Sam said, dodging out of the way when Caleb tried to tickle his sides.

"Are we ready?" Dean asked, already by the door, clearly anxious to get out the door and start the first full day of investigation.

"Yeah," Caleb said, standing up. "Let's go."

"See you later, Sammy," Dean said, as he lightheartedly punched him in the shoulder.

"We'll see," Sam replied, giving him a withering look.

* * *

The heavily wooded area where most of the murders had happened, was a few miles away from the motel. Instead of the slow, easygoing pace that Dean was used to when he and Caleb went out on jobs together, he definitely noticed the increased pace as he drove down the road, careful not to make himself obvious to any of the pedestrians that were crossing the street.

"You nervous?" Dean asked, as he stared determinedly ahead.

"Nope. You?"

"A little," Dean admitted, as he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

"Why?"

"I just haven't done this in awhile."

It had been a long time since he had taken on a hunt as serious as this one—the spirit ones—the ones that were relatively easy to solve, were a snap for him to go in and solve. The harder ones, the ones that had a big question mark hanging over them, were the ones that he hadn't been on in awhile.

"Me either. I guess it's better to jump back in headfirst," Caleb said with a laugh, as he pulled off the main road and onto the one that would take them to the edge of the forest.

"Yeah, true."

"Alright," Caleb said, as he finally stopped the car on the dirt road right on the edge of the forest. They would have to walk the rest of the way through the crowded trees and dense forest, on foot. "You know the rules, right?"

"Nope, not at all," Dean said teasingly, as he rolled his eyes.

"Dean, come on."

"Yes, Caleb. We've been over this a _million_ time before."

"Well, it won't hurt to get a refresher. Especially since we haven't done this recently."

Whenever Dean went out on hunts with the guys—especially dangerous ones like this one promised to be—there were a certain set of rules that he had to abide by. It was annoying whenever they insisted he repeat them back to them, but it was only done for his safety.

"Stay with you-" Dean began.

"At _all_ times."

"Right. Shoot to injure not kill, if I don't know what my target is."

"Correct. If something is threatening you, but you don't have a clear shot, aim to injure first and foremost."

"Okay. Never walk away further than you can hear me."

"Right."

"Can we get out now?" Dean pressed, anxious to start the job now that they had reviewed all the safety guidelines that he had to adhere by.

"Yes."

The air was cold, misty. Drawing his arms closer around his body to keep warm, he followed Caleb through the thick foliage, as they disappeared from view and walked into the heart of the thick forest.

Free from the sounds of traffic, Dean could fully appreciate the unique sounds of the wild. Birds chirping, different animals scurrying about. It was something that he had never really paid attention to before, but he couldn't deny how awesome it was, either.

"How close are we to where the first killing happened?" Dean asked, tearing his eyes away from the sight of a mother bird carrying something to her young.

"Right around here, actually."

"Okay."

As Dean walked a little ways ahead of Caleb, eager to find out what was causing these string of murders, he was mindful of how far he went. He knew that if he walked too far away from Caleb, he would be in trouble for not obeying the rules.

"Dean?" Caleb called. "You still around?"

"Yep. I'm fine."

"Okay."

Shaking his head in mild irritation at Caleb's overprotective nature, he slowed his pace down a little bit as his eyes expertly scanned the ground at his feet, trying to suss out anything that the normal observer wouldn't be able to pick up.

With the supernatural, it could be anything. A fallen twig could mean a haunted object, a path of uneven leaves could unintentionally lead to their target. In a forest like that, the odds of them coming across something, was fairly good.

When he didn't immediately see anything of interest, he moved on, increasing his pace as he walked. He could hear Caleb behind him, and knew that he could have free reign to explore around a little bit more.

"You still okay?" Caleb called.

"Yeah."

"Find anything?"

"Nope."

"Me either. Keep at it."

"I know."

Scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to rid himself of the cold sweat that was gathering at the back of his neck, he hopped over a low-hanging branch, barely avoiding a nasty collision with the thing, as he kept walking.

It was right after the branch that it happened.

It had been hidden underneath a pile of leaves and other twigs, and when the weight of Dean's leg and foot encountered it, it sprung. It happened so fast that Dean didn't even have to time to react, as his entire body crumbled to the ground in shock.

Panting desperately, trying to see through the thick haze of panic that was rapidly setting in, he searched wildly for the source of the pain and what had cause him to fall. Now that some of the shock had started to wear off, he could feel a blinding pain begin to assault his leg.

"What the hell?" he gasped, closing his eyes against the brutal pain, as he sucked in a deep breath. "Caleb!" he called. "Caleb!"

He wasn't far from where he was—and in that terrifying instant—Dean took comfort in that, as he waited somewhat impatiently for Caleb to reach him. In the meantime, he tried to find the source of the pain. The pain had blinded everything else, including what had caused him to fall.

When he leaned foreword as much as he could—which wasn't easy considering how limited he was in his movements with the pain in his leg—he gasped.

"Caleb!"

* * *

_Uh-oh._

_Honest opinion, guys!_


	15. Chapter 15

The pain was horrendous—it was like a thousand white hot knives were repeatedly stabbing themselves into his leg—and it was the _one_ sensation that Dean would have given _anything_ if it meant that it would go away.

He had never been one to be a baby about something, but this was completely different. He had never known a pain like this in his _entire_ life—carefully anchoring his body so he wouldn't cause more undue pain on himself—he leaned back against the rough trunk of a tree that he had conveniently fallen by.

Trying desperately to control his breaths so he wouldn't _completely_ lose it—he listened carefully for Caleb—he wasn't far from him. When he had last heard from him, he had sounded close. He tried to allow that fact to bring him _some_ measure of comfort, though it was hard.

The situation was impossible any way he looked at it. Something was terribly wrong with his leg—the pain was too severe for it be something small—it was horrifying to have that realization in a remote place like they were in.

Biting back a scream of pain when he accidentally moved his body the wrong way, he looked around for Caleb again, realizing in that moment, that he was completely vulnerable to whatever monster was out there. It would be easy for it to come and snatch him when he was immobile.

"C-Caleb!" he yelled, his voice choking back on a sob.

When he quieted down—he could hear movements in the immediate area he was in. He tried to have the belief that it was Caleb, and not the other suspicion he had that it was something _less _than human.

Leaning foreword carefully—which wasn't easy considering the limited range of movement he had with his leg—he looked down at it and almost wished he _hadn't_. Although he had never been one to be queasy at the sight of blood, (it had been something he had gotten over when he had first started hunting), this was quite unlike anything he had _ever_ seen before.

It wasn't the remains of some mangled corpse in the medical examiner's office—someone he was far-removed from. This was his own appendage he was ogling, and it terrified him, as he tried desperately to swallow back the bile that rose in his throat.

At first glance, the injury didn't appear to be anything severe. The blood had managed to cover the worst of it when it had soaked through his jeans. It was how he felt on the _inside_, that was beginning to scare him.

Clutching his injured leg with his trembling hands, he tried to look _past _the bear trap that he had landed on when he had jumped over the log, but it was hard. This one had been fitted with metal teeth spikes that had embedded themselves in his leg, creating puncture holes and contributing to the agony he was experiencing.

It was hard to get a good view of the injury around the massiveness of the bear trap—but it was making him nervous. His leg was too painful, and there was too much blood that the spikes had drawn out.

Palming his face, trying to wipe away the last of the sweat residue, he looked around for Caleb again, and heard clearer footsteps meet his ears. It was a relief, one that he welcomed with open arms as he waited impatiently for him to make his appearance. If nothing else, Caleb could protect him from the unseen dangers in those woods, and would be able to coach him through this terrifying process as they tried to see what was wrong with his leg.

When Caleb finally _did_ appear—making his way through a thick tangle of trees and foliage on the ground—his trained eyes did a quick assessment of the situation at hand. Dean noticed the way his face _paled_ at the sight of his leg, and the ugly trap that had captured it.

"Dean," Caleb said, his voice constricted as he got down on his knees by the injured teen. "Are you okay?"

Dean shook his head, swallowing back another sob. "N-no."

"Tell me what happened," he said, trying his hardest to keep his voice light and conversational.

"I—I was walking," Dean began, shakily recounting the stupid incident that had brought him to where he was now. "And—and I jumped over this stupid log—and then I landed into _this_," he said, looking down at the sickening trap that had bitten itself into his leg.

"Okay," Caleb said quietly, soothingly. "It's going to be okay, Dean. You hear me, bud? It's going to be _just _fine. I need you to try to stay as calm as you can for me. Can you move your leg?"

"Not really," Dean said, shaking his head. "When I _do_, it hurts like hell."

"I bet it does. I need you to do something for me, okay?"

Dean nodded, as a single tear slid down his cheek. "W—what?"

"I need you to breathe for me, okay? Remember what I taught you?"

In past training sessions, Caleb had taught Dean the importance of maintaining a steady breathing rhythm to keep his body and his reactions under control. In that instant, he didn't want Dean passing out from the panic of all this, and risk having something go wrong.

"I don't care-"

"Yes, yes," Caleb said, placing his hand comfortingly on top of Dean's. "You have to _breathe_ for me, okay? We can't have you passing out right now, that wouldn't be too great."

"It hurts so damn bad, Caleb."

"I know, dude. It _must_."

Dean was normally someone who had a ridiculously high tolerance for pain, and when the pain was so severe that he was almost in _tears_ over it, Caleb knew to take it seriously, as he scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to think through the utter panic of the situation.

Something was wrong with Dean's leg—that much was obvious—and they were in an area where several disappearances and murders had happened over the last several months. It was daunting, trying to figure out how they would somehow escape from this.

"I'm scared," Dean whispered, biting down on his bottom lip to attempt control over his fractured emotions.

"You know what?" Caleb said with a laugh, as he tried his hardest to meet Dean's shaken gaze. "I would consider you to be _crazy _if you _weren't_."

"Oh, thanks," Dean said, and to Caleb's relief, his remark brought an _actual_ laugh out of Dean. It was something he would have paid gold to see, and even though it didn't last, at least he was able to bring some humor to the situation. "What do you think is wrong with my leg?"

The way Dean said it—like he was almost _afraid_ of hearing the answer— it broke Caleb's heart clean in two—because that was _so_ unlike Dean to be afraid of _anything_, much less hearing something that wouldn't exactly be favorable to him.

"Well," Caleb said thoughtfully, as he carefully placed his fingers on Dean's leg, trying to see if he could detect a break in the delicate bones that were still forming inside of him. "I can't feel anything right now, but it's very possible there's been a break of some kind."

"_Perfect_," Dean said with a scoff. "How can you tell?"

With hunting, came the added responsibility of learning as much about the medical trade as you could. He hadn't progressed that far in his training, but knew that Caleb and Bobby both knew how to detect broken bones, and how to apply advanced first aide.

It was a comfort to him that they obviously knew what they were doing—but in that instant it did little to help him when they were still stuck in this horrible position.

"Well, it's kind of like an art," Caleb said, giving him a small smile, trying to do anything to take Dean's mind off the pain. "The most obvious sign that a bone has been broken, is swelling around that area. Unfortunately, this damn bear trap is making it harder for me to see if the leg is _actually_ broken or not."

"What else?"

"Well, and the pain," Caleb explained softly. "If you're in as much pain as you're describing to me, the chances are pretty good that there's been a break of some kind."

The traps were designed to hold a thousand pound bear. Not a thirteen-year-old _kid_. It was something that factored greatly in Caleb's concern, especially since these traps had teeth on them that had probably caused some additional damage to his leg.

"So," Dean said, through gritted teeth, as he scratched his hand along the dirt ground, trying to do anything to take his mind off the horrific situation at hand. "How do we get this thing off my leg?"

It was a heavy, painful trap that was clamped around his leg with metal teeth spikes. He had no idea how they would even _begin_ the arduous process of removing it without causing further damage to himself.

"It will be tricky," Caleb warned. "I don't want to hurt you _more_ by trying to open this thing-"

"I d-don't care," Dean said, his voice trembling. "Just get it _off_ me."

"Alright," Caleb said, as he looked around the immediate area for something suitable to pry it open with. Using his or Dean's hands to pry it open, would only work for a split second, not long enough to slide his leg out. They would have to find something stronger to anchor it with.

"How bad?" Dean asked, after a second.

"How bad what?"

"How bad do you think my leg is?" Dean asked, swallowing back convulsively.

"Well," Caleb said, trying to avoid answering that question for as long as he could. "I think we're going to get this thing off first, and then we'll see what we're working with."

There was really no doubt in his mind that Dean's leg was broken—it was just a matter of how severely and how bad the damage to it was. The bear trap weighed a ton, and the weight of that snapping down on his leg, would be enough to cause significant damage.

"How are we going to do it?"

"I know," Caleb said, as he reached for a long, thick stick. "You see those two levers right on the sides?"

Those would be the ones that they would need to pull out order to pry the trap apart—with the thick stick that Caleb had found to lever it with. Unfortunately, the levers were stationed directly on top of the gash that the trap had made in his leg.

"Y-yeah," Dean said, as he locked eyes with the levers that Caleb was pointing to, and then looked away as though he couldn't stand to look at them more than he had to.

"Okay. Here's what I need you to do. I need you to pull them apart-"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. "I c—can't."

It was _unfathomable_ to him that he would have to dig his fingers into his already excruciatingly painful leg, and pry the trap open for Caleb. It was horrifying, and it was sickening to him as he tried his hardest to swallow back the fresh round of nausea that was surrounding him.

"You can, you can," Caleb said, nodding his head. "Dean, look at me."

Swallowing thickly, he met Caleb's forcibly calm expression with his own. "What?"

"I would _never_ tell you to do something that you couldn't handle. Dean, this will be easy. You just have to grip the edge of the levers on each side, and pull toward you."

"What if-"

"What if what?"

"What if I hurt my leg even _more_?" Dean said, as a single tear slid down his cheek, before ending up in his mouth. It was a product of staying strong for so long, even through the worst imaginable pain possible, and he was done.

"You might," Caleb admitted, not bothering to hide the truth. "But we need to get this thing off your leg. I can't do both at once, and the trap will only hold for a few seconds."

Shaking his head, dreading the terrifying task ahead of him, Dean sighed, sucking in a deep breath. "Okay," he whispered, more to himself than to Caleb. "What do I do now?"

"You see those levers?"

"Yes."

"Use your fingers, and pull them apart as much as you can."

Dean nodded, trying to prepare himself to get it over with as quickly as he could. Fingers shaking uncontrollably, he placed them on either side of the lever, which was positioned right over his injured leg, trying to ignore the pain and the blood that splattered onto his fingers, he sucked in a deep breath and pulled.

The pain was instantaneous as the trap shifted over his wound—but he held firm as he tried to ignore the blinding pain that it presented to him—and watched as the clamps that were controlling the pressure on the trap, slowly eased open.

"Good job," Caleb said quietly, as he moved to place the stick in the tiny opening that Dean had managed to create with the sheer pressure that he was putting on it with his fingers. "Perfect."

"Did you get it?"

"Yes," Caleb breathed, as he (as gently as he could) moved the trap from around Dean's leg. This time, Dean couldn't hold back the low cry of pain, but it had to be done, and Caleb recognized that better than anyone, as he moved the trap aside.

"Is it off?"

"Yes. You did _amazing_, Dean."

"Now what?"

"Now we get you some help."

* * *

_Whoa._


	16. Chapter 16

Adrenaline.

Exhaustion.

Panic.

Pain.

_Fear._

Dean couldn't decide which emotion was the strongest—as he allowed his body to lean back against the same tree that he had fallen by—it had been minutes since they had managed to pry the gruesome trap off his mangled leg—and while he tried to take some measure of comfort from that, it was hard.

The trap, while terrifying and sickening, had managed to put a stopper to the blood flow that had been caused by the teeth spikes. Once that pressure had been removed, the blood didn't have anywhere to go but _out._

Acting on impulse so he wouldn't bleed to death, Caleb had managed to stop some of it with his hand, while Dean helped him get his jacket off to create a stronger tourniquet.

It had been a terrifying moment for Dean—even though he had never gotten sick around the sight of blood—the sight of it coming out of his own body part, was sickening. The jacket had done its job in stopping the bleeding, even though it had been tightened around his leg almost to the point of being painful.

Now that he had a brief second to sit back and think about the current situation, he was dreading the inevitable news that they would have to move him to get him the help that he desperately needed.

It was inconceivable to him that he would be expected to, somehow, stand and make the seemingly long trek back to their car. Even though it wasn't that far from where they were now, it still seemed like a hundred miles with his injured leg and utter exhaustion that was beginning to set in.

Swallowing back the roll of nausea that was starting to make its presence known again, he tried _not_ to think about it until he had no other option. Caleb, luckily, had sensed how much he needed the brief rest, and had allowed him to do it before trying to get him up.

He was grateful for that—even though he knew it couldn't last forever—not when whatever they were supposed to be hunting, was out there. It would only take the thing, whatever it was, a second to overpower him in his weakened state, and even though he had Caleb there for backup, would it be enough?

Sighing, he looked over at Caleb. Even though the young hunter was an expert at concealing what he was _really_ feeling, Dean wasn't an idiot and could see the worry on his face. It was an impossible situation they were in, and every possible thing that could have gone wrong that afternoon, had.

Now they had to go to the hospital—there was no other option when his leg was as bad as it was—and then they would run the extremely probable risk of someone recognizing Caleb and reporting him to the police. It would be the last thing he would need, to see the devastating sight of his guardian hauled off in handcuffs again.

"How are you doing, sport?" Caleb asked, catching the look that Dean passed over to him.

The poor kid had been through more than anyone _twice_ his age should have to go through—and even though Caleb knew the right course of action would be to get help as fast as humanly possible—he didn't want push Dean beyond his limits, and with that attitude, had allowed him to rest briefly before continuing on.

"I'm _peachy_, Caleb," Dean said, his voice raw from the endless amount of tears that he had expelled since obtaining his gruesome injury.

"How does your leg feel?" he asked, ignoring the minor attitude that Dean was giving him.

He could hardly blame him for being grouchy—especially with the amount of pain he was in—and the fear of the unknown creature gaining ground on them.

"It's painful."

"Is it better?"

"Since we got the trap off, yeah."

It was nowhere _near_ healed—and Dean knew that Caleb was probably right in his assumption that his leg was broken—but when the trap had been removed from the wound, the pain had let up a little bit.

Of course then he had to deal with the wounds that the metal teeth had made in his leg—but with Caleb's jacket—even _that_ had gotten a little bit better, even though his leg still throbbed on a near constant basis.

"I _hate_ to be the one to bring this up," Caleb began, scrubbing a hand over his face, "but we're not going to get you any better by sitting here. We need to get back to our car, and get to a hospital."

Caleb knew better than anyone that going to a crowded city hospital, would be a potential recipe for disaster. Especially with the way his face had been splashed across the front pages of every newspaper and nightly news program.

His instinct to put himself on the back burner and get Dean the help he needed, directly contradicted the strong code of self-preservation that most hunters were born with—but he didn't care. Any number of things could be wrong with Dean's leg, and the longer they delayed treatment, the worse it would be.

"I know," Dean said with a sigh, as he shakily rose to a sitting position on the ground. "But how are we going to get back to our car?"

Even though the distance back to their car, wasn't that far, when he factored in the reduced speed that they would have to travel because of his leg, it was cause for concern.

"Carefully," Caleb replied. "You just hold on to me, and we'll go at an even pace. There's no need to rush anything, just as long as we're _getting_ somewhere."

Dean nodded. "What about when we get to the hospital?"

"They might know who I am," Caleb admitted, nodding his head, "and we'll deal with that _if_ and _when_ it comes. Right now, I'm more concerned about making sure your leg gets the right medical treatment."

"I know—but I'm worried about _you_ getting arrested again."

Dean had barely made it through Caleb's trial for kidnapping and abuse—and when he had been convicted of the former offense, it had thrown Dean for a loop.

He was sure he wouldn't be able to handle it if something _else_ were to happen to him.

"I'll do my best not to let it happen," Caleb assured him, "but we need to make sure your leg is alright, Dean."

"I know."

Even though his leg was the _least_ of his worries when he factored in the very _real_ risk of Caleb getting caught—he knew that he needed help—and even though he hated hospitals with a burning passion, he had no choice but to go.

"Okay," Caleb said, as he prepared to stand up. "Loop your arm around my neck, and I'll help you stand. After that, you can keep your arm there if you want, and we can make our back."

Dean nodded, mentally bracing himself as much as possible, before he raised his arm and wound it around Caleb's neck. Sucking in a deep breath, he tried his hardest to stand under his own power, but it was almost impossible, and Caleb had to supply most of the effort.

Standing unevenly for a few seconds, he tried hard to regain his sense of equilibrium. It wouldn't do him any good to fall back over, and with that thought in mind, he stood shakily on one leg while his hand grasped Caleb's arm to steady him.

"Let's go," Dean said, his voice tight as he concentrated on the incredibly complex art of walking on one leg.

"You sure you're up for this?" Caleb asked, as they took a few steps foreword.

"No, but we don't have a choice."

Caleb couldn't argue with that logic—as they began the painstaking process of moving through the dangerous woods back toward their car—it was as if Dean had put on a new set of glasses, because everything that he had once enjoyed about the forest, was no longer there.

Now all he could see was the potential danger that lurked in every single corner as he tried to hurry it along as much as he could. Trying to keep his breathing under control, he gritted his teeth as Caleb led him around a few fallen tree trunks. It was exhausting to concentrate on every single step he made. It was hard to believe that he could take something as rudimentary as walking, for granted. Now, every fallen leaf and every branch, could be hiding the same kind of trap that snagged his leg.

"How are you doing, bud?" Caleb said, after a few minutes of silent walking.

"Ask me later-" he was cut off by the abrupt rustling of the trees right next to them. His every muscle and nerve, tensed in dreaded anticipation, he looked up at Caleb in a blind panic. "Caleb," he groaned, "we can't stop."

Caleb didn't answer—his hunter senses were on high alert as he listened intently for the sounds that had just reached their ears. Either it was a harmless animal, or it was the monster that had caused all the problems in the first place.

When the sound reached their ears again—only this time closer—Caleb sighed, as he carefully lowered Dean to the ground. He hated doing it, he hated halting their dash out of the woods, but if this was a threat, it needed to be taken care of before it picked them off at a later time.

"It will be fine," Caleb said, as he reached behind him for his handgun that he had tucked in his jeans. "Just stay down, don't try to be the hero right now."

It was almost instinctual for Dean—whenever a threat of any kind presented itself—he had to be the one to jump into the line of fire and save everyone. It was an admirable quality that he possessed, but Caleb knew that if he listened to that instinct now, it could get him killed.

"What if it's the thing that's been-"

"Then we'll put it down."

Over time, Caleb had learned there weren't a lot of things that a monster was impervious to. A round of silver bullets nearly almost worked every single time.

"Caleb-"

"Hold on."

Straining his ears to listen, he heard the sound grow closer. Checking that he had a round in the chamber, he clenched the gun tightly in his hands, as he eyed the spot where he knew the creature would most likely be coming out from.

When it finally _did_ appear—Caleb backed up to stand in front of Dean. It wasn't the creature that he had expected, at least not with the number of disappearances and murders.

A Wendigo.

It had been something that Caleb had briefly considered—but had ruled out when he had remembered that particular monster's MO. Looking at it now, he knew that he had a split second to fire, or risk losing the shot and putting them in even greater danger.

Easing his finger over the trigger, he didn't waste a second as he pulled it. The shot was perfect—one right to the head—but it didn't kill it. While not used commonly on Wendigo's in modern day, lore that was used to describe them, said they were vulnerable to it.

"Caleb, we have to go!" Dean said, inching as far away from the scene as he could.

"I know."

It didn't kill it—but it had injured it enough to slow it down. With how pale and shaky Dean was, Caleb knew he couldn't risk sticking around to finish it off yet. Other hunters were in the area, and would be able to finish it.

Moving back over to where Dean was, he quickly got him back on his feet, and they began the short walk back to the car. They had been able to make steady progress before the Wendigo had appeared, and as Dean looked back, he saw the enormous creature quickly gaining ground on them.

"Caleb!"

"Damnit," Caleb swore, as he held on to Dean with one hand, while aiming his gun with the other. The shot that went off, caught it in the heart, and that was the one that finally made the difference as it collapsed to the ground.

"It's gone, right?" Dean asked, as he watched the sickening creature fall.

"I think so."

Not that they would stick around to find out, either. Their first priority was finding a hospital for Dean, and that hadn't changed, as they finally reached their car.

"Where should I sit?"

"Um," Caleb said, "probably the backseat so your leg can rest easier."

"Alright."

Normally, when there was no one else in the car, Dean rode shotgun. It would be different to take the backseat, but he knew that it was only because his leg was so badly injured.

Opening the back door with one hand, Caleb helped slowly ease Dean into the backseat, allowing him to position his body so that it was leaning lightly against the door so he would have that entire space to stretch out.

"Make sure," Caleb said, before he closed the door. "That you don't lean too hard on this door."

"Or else I'll fall out on my ass?"

"Something like that."

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he walked around to the driver's side and slid in. Sneaking a glance in the backseat where Dean was, he hoped that they weren't too late to reach help; that his leg and his life would still be allowed to remain intact.

Only time would tell.

* * *

_Poor Dean_


	17. Chapter 17

As their car bumped and jolted down the road, Dean tried hard not to let it show on his face how much pain the constant movement was causing him, as he focused on the deep breathing techniques that Caleb had taught him during their training sessions.

It wouldn't help him to faint due to the stress he was under—even though he had to disagree with Caleb on that—a brief loss of consciousness would be the most _preferable_ way of getting some reprieve from the never ending _hell_ that his life had recently taken.

When the car accidentally crashed over a pothole, he couldn't hide the low cry of pain that escaped from between his gritted teeth. The pain in his side had subsided when the trap had been removed, but that hadn't stopped it from being nearly impossible to walk on, and giving painful twinges every time something happened.

"Are you okay?" Caleb asked, turning his torso around as much as he could in order to get a good look in the backseat where Dean was.

The kid had been trooper all afternoon—and now that they were in a relatively safe place on the way to get help—he could tell that Dean felt safer about showing his true feelings a little bit more.

"Define 'okay', Dean said dryly.

"Good point."

"Caleb," Dean said, after a second.

"What?"

"We have to think about this rationally. You can't go to the hospital with me. I _want_ you there with me more than anything on this _planet_, but I won't lose you again. _Sam_ won't lose you again."

Going to the hospital with how often his face had been splashed across the front pages of the headlines, had been a serious concern from the get-go. It would be nothing for a doctor or nurse to report him to the authorities when they realized who it was.

Even though he wanted to be the one that went in order to make sure that Dean was getting the right medical treatment, he knew that Bobby was just as capable of making sure that was carried out, and he would be able to stay back with Sam.

"Dean-" he began.

"Caleb, _please_," Dean said, his voice breaking as he tried his hardest to bring it back under control. "They'll take one look at you and call the cops. We can't have that anymore, that's the whole _reason_ for running."

Caleb had been a willing victim in seeing most of his legal nightmares through, but when he had been sentenced to do hard time, that had been where he had drawn the line. It was no longer an option to be taken away from the boys when they needed him. Not just for security, but for the emotional stability that they had known from being around him for so long.

"I don't want you to be there without me-"

Even though Dean shared very close relationships with his brother and Bobby—he and Dean had always connected more—always shared more in common—and were always able to resolve conflict and arguments fairly easily.

There was never a time when Dean relied on him _more_ than when he was in a dire situation like this one. It was heartbreaking for Caleb to realize that, while he would have paid anything to have been allowed to go to the hospital with Dean, and hold his hand through whatever procedures they would do, he was right.

It would have been more traumatic for Dean to hear that he had been hauled off to jail again—than it would be for him to stay back with Sam—and wait to be there with him until it was safe. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he mentally calculated the distances between the motel and the hospital.

It was nearly the same distance—the only thing that factored was the heavy flow of traffic from the work hour being over with. Making his decision on a whim, he turned the car in the direction of the motel.

If Bobby and Sam were done with the interview, he would be able to hop in the car and take his place easily. If they were still gone, Caleb knew that he would have to take the chance and go with him by himself.

"Are we going back to the motel?" Dean asked, catching the sudden change of direction that the car had taken, and hoped that was the explanation.

"Yeah. I hate to admit it," he said teasingly, "but I think you _might_ be right on this one."

"Jerk, I'm always right," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Once in awhile," Caleb said, letting a secretive grin grace his features. It was so welcoming to hear some of the old Dean shine through in their banter. It was something that he had wanted to hear ever since his horrible injury.

"So Bobby's going to take me?"

Dean held trust with _both_ of his guardians—it was just with Caleb—they were so close and if he would have preferred to have _anyone_ go with him, it would be Caleb, but he recognized how dangerous that move would be for them if they attempted it.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that their only course of action would be for them to go back to the motel and have them switch places. Caleb would stay with Sam, and Bobby would escort him to the hospital for whatever nightmares would await him there.

"I think so," Caleb replied, as he smoothly turned the car onto the road that led to their hideout. "Unless he and Sam _aren't_ back from their interview, then we kind of won't have a choice in the matter."

"Yeah, I know."

Turning his head to look out the window, Dean hoped to see Bobby's truck in the near-empty parking lot. If it wasn't, he knew that they would be taking an incredible risk in going to the hospital together, and having someone see Caleb and report him.

The stress he was under, was horrible. He knew that it wasn't good for his overall health at the time, so he tried to control it the best he could as he glanced out the window.

When he didn't see the truck in the parking lot, his shoulders slumped. There was no way that he felt comfortable having Caleb go and risk having another legal nightmare on their shoulders, but he was quickly realizing that they didn't have much of a choice.

Whatever was wrong with his leg, would only be prolonged if they waited for Bobby to come back with Sam. Still, it was something that he was beginning to reconsider as he looked at Caleb.

"So Bobby's not here," Caleb said, stating the obvious. "And we _need_ to get you to the hospital. I don't like that bleeding, and I don't like how painful the leg is."

It was scary having to reconcile himself to the fact that he would be exposing himself to further prosecution, but it was a position he would rather be in than watch Dean suffer further by waiting for Bobby, who they had no way of getting in touch with, and for all they knew, would be gone for hours with Sam.

"Try to call him on his cell," Dean said, remembering the phone that Bobby had gotten after countless hours of nagging from both Caleb _and_ himself.

For Bobby, he had been comfortable resorting to using just a regular telephone. Using a cellphone was something that he thought was unnecessary, but had finally given it and had obtained one a few weeks previously.

"Alright," Caleb said, as he dug his own out of his pocket.

Punching in the correct number, he waited. The dial tone droned on and on in his ear. Normally, it was something that he loved to make fun of with Bobby for not answering his phone, but right now it was a dire matter of possible life or death, and it was only making him furious with the older hunter for being so stubborn about using it.

"He's not-"

"No," Caleb said, palming his face. "Keep trying him," he added, as he handed his phone back to Dean. "And in the meantime, we'll head in the direction of the hospital. If we reach him, we can double back here."

"Okay."

Praying that he would be able to get through, Dean put his number through again. As he leaned his head back against the cold, hard window, he closed his eyes as he waited and hoped for Bobby to pick up.

Either his interview was running late—or he had forgotten to charge it the night before—which was entirely likely with how technology resistant he seemed to be. Still, it wasn't something that was appreciated by _either_ of them right then, as Caleb ran nearly every stop light in the small town in order to reach the hospital and get Dean the assistance that he needed.

"Still nothing?" Caleb asked, as he spotted the first of the hospital signs on the road, signaling that they were close.

"Nope. What's even the point of having the damn thing if he isn't ever going to use it?"

"Because I kept bugging him until he finally caved," Caleb explained, "I thought he would use it once he had it, but he keeps avoiding it for some reason."

"Maybe he thinks it's haunted," Dean said, laughing once.

"Probably," Caleb said with a smirk.

With that, he turned into the long entryway for the hospital. It was a fairly small hospital with minimal security, something he took comfort in, though he knew that would probably be short-lived.

Finding the nearest parking space, he sighed as he paused. If he went in there, he knew that he would run the chance of getting thrown back in prison, and while the thought of that _alone_, didn't scare him, it scared him when he factored the two kids in.

They had already suffered through so much loss in their lives that it was inconceivable to him that he would expect them to be okay with saying goodbye to him again. It wasn't an option, and Caleb knew that now.

"Are you sure-" Dean began.

"Yes. There's no other option, Dean. We either get you in there and deal with this leg, or we run the risk of you losing it altogether. I don't know what's wrong with it, and I don't want to find out later that it was something we could have helped."

"I don't want-"

"I _know_," Caleb said, his tone softening at the frantic look that Dean passed to him. "I don't want it to happen, either, but we can't make a decision this huge based on assumptions alone. We tried calling Bobby, and for some reason, he's not answering."

Dean nodded, sucking in a deep breath as he bit down on his thumbnail. "So we go in and if they recognize you-"

"You let me handle that part of it, do you hear me?"

"No-"

"_Dean_," Caleb said firmly. "I can handle these people, but the person that I'm worried about right now, is _you_."

"Fine. Let's go, then."

* * *

Caleb tried to control the insane pounding of his heart, as he helped Dean into the front reception/waiting room area. The admitting nurse hardly took one look at him, such was her focus on making sure that Dean was admitted and sent to a private room to be examined.

Not even waiting for their permission, Caleb followed them back as they rolled him on the stretcher toward the correct exam room. Even though the nervousness at something happening, was written clear as day across Dean's face, Caleb could also see the relief that he held in the fact that Caleb was there with him.

Once they had reached the private room, the nurses effortlessly transferred him to the bed that he would be staying in for the time being. After being instructed to wait briefly for the doctor, Caleb sank down into a chair, running his hands through his eyes.

It had been a non-stop rush in getting him to the hospital and to the help that he had so desperately needed—and now that he had time to stop and think about the course of events that had gotten them there, he was exhausted.

"They seemed okay," Dean remarked, bringing Caleb out of his twisted maze of thoughts.

"They did," Caleb agreed. "Hopefully they're too focused on what's going on here, than worrying about me."

It was later—and the hospital seemed low on staffing for that particular afternoon—which boded well in Caleb's favor, as he and Dean jokingly shared a fist bump with each other. It was nice to know that they were in a relatively safe place, and could focus on something other than the frenzy of getting the help.

"Hopefully, and hopefully Bobby will think to check his phone when he stops."

"I'm not holding my breath," Dean said with a laugh.

"Me either," Caleb said with a grin.

They were interrupted by a nurse that came into their room—she was different from the one that had initially helped them. Feeling himself tense, even though nothing had happened yet, Caleb waited for her to check her chart before addressing them.

"Sir, is the first time you've been to this hospital?"

"Yes."

"Okay, because we don't have insurance on file, and we need it-"

"Fine," Caleb said, as he got his wallet out of his pocket and fished out his fake insurance card. "Here it is."

"Thank you."

Grateful she was gone, he waited for an actual doctor to appear. Even though it had only been four or five minutes since they had gotten there, it seemed like a lifetime to him already.

"Do you think she suspected anything?" Dean asked, following the tense look that Caleb had gotten on his face.

"It's impossible to know—we'll find out one way or another I guess."

Even though he would prefer to know right off the bat so he would be better prepared to deal with the fallout of whatever nightmare the hospital might bring down on them.

"Yeah-"

"Hi." It was a doctor, mid to late thirties. "I'm Dr. Crane."

"Hi," Caleb said, "I'm Anderson," he introduced himself, using the name that was on the fake insurance card. "This is Dean."

"Nice to meet you both. I understand you had a little accident this afternoon?"

"Pretty _big_ one," Dean said, his eyes shifting downward to his leg.

"Let me see," he said, as some nurses came in to assist him. "You were hiking?" he asked, as he carefully started to remove Caleb's jacket from around Dean's leg.

"That's right," Caleb said, as he watched every move the doctor made with Dean. It wasn't that he didn't trust what they were trying to do, it was that he didn't trust _anyone_ with the boys. _Period._

"And you stepped into a bear trap?"

Dean nodded, wincing in pain when the doctor finally got the jacket off, and the pressure was released from his leg. The instant rush of blood was immediate, as the nurse quickly slapped a pressure bandage on it.

"How long do you think he was in the trap?" the doctor asked, shifting his focus over to Caleb.

"About ten minutes, probably."

"You got it open yourself?"

"Correct."

"Wow," the doctor said, looking impressed. "You spend a lot of time outdoors?"

"Fairly."

"Okay. Janice," he said, looking back at his nurse. "Tell Scott down in X-ray that we need that room stat."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you think it's broken?" Caleb asked, catching the quick look of apprehension that crossed over the seasoned doctor's face.

"The X-ray will tell us more," he replied evasively. "The puncture wounds are what I'm afraid of right now."

"What do you mean?" Caleb asked, trading startled looks with Dean.

The puncture wounds, while severe, had been the _least_ of his concerns when he had managed to get the bleeding under control. The idea that it could be anything _other_ than a series of low-grade cuts, hadn't immediately registered in Caleb's mind.

"When the spikes on the trap entered his leg, they were positioned right over several important veins and arteries. With how heavy the bleeding was, before we applied the pressure bandage, it's a little concerning."

"So," Caleb said, struggling to follow along with what he was implying. "You think that something touched an artery-"

"It's possible."

Caleb shook his head. "Well, do what you can for him. In the meantime, is there any medicine you can give him to ease the pain a little bit?"

"That depends," the doctor said, and Caleb could definitely see that he was acting suspicious with him. "Is he allergic to any medications?"

"None that I'm aware of."

"We'll give him a low dose of morphine for right now."

"Thank you."

Watching as the doctor left, Caleb sighed. The doctor had definitely noticed something was up with him, and that realization made Caleb sick to his stomach.

"That was weird," Dean said.

"I know. When they take you back for X-rays, I'm going to duck out and try to call Bobby again. See if he can come and take over for me."

He didn't know what the doctor knew, but it was making him nervous how they were behaving with him. If he was able to call Bobby and have him take over for him, he would be able to go back to the security of their secluded motel room and wait with Sam.

"Okay."

"It will be okay."

"I know."


	18. Chapter 18

The waiting was impossible for both of them. Caleb, because he couldn't wait to escape the room and be able to call Bobby. Dean, for the simple reason that he was terrified of something happening to his beloved guardian again.

"Caleb?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you freaked that something's going to happen?"

Dean hadn't been _blind_—he had seen the way the doctor had spoken to Caleb—and had seen the suspicious glances that he threw toward him when they were speaking, but Dean hoped that it was something _completely_ unrelated to the current situation.

He hoped, foolishly, that the doctor would leave them alone; that he wouldn't follow the instincts that he was probably trained to hone, and call 911. It would be the _worst_ possible thing he could do, and the _one_ action that could cost them dearly.

It wouldn't be that easy for Caleb to escape again—especially when they knew _how_ he had done it. No more time outside to slip under the fencing, and no easy going fake guards to aide him in his mission.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Caleb sighed as he turned to meet Dean's inquiring gaze. The kid had been put through so much trauma that afternoon that he _hated_ to add to that load, but there was no point in lying to him when he probably already _knew_ the truth already.

"Right now, I'm not that worried about it. It could have been a fluke. We don't know."

"Are you going to call Bobby?" Dean pressed, clearly not sharing Caleb's sense of calm about the horrible situation they were in.

For some reason, Bobby had been MIA that afternoon. They knew he had taken Sam to go interview some potential witnesses to the crimes that had occurred in those woods, but that had been hours ago, and he hadn't been answering his phone.

It was funny in the best of situations—something that Dean and Caleb _loved_ to tease him about—but in dire life and death situations, it was something that was absolutely infuriating to them.

"That anxious to get rid of me?" Caleb joked.

"Hell no," Dean shot back, "but I don't want to see you get carted off again."

That had been their main concern from the beginning—especially with how often his face had been feature stories on the daily news—and the countless newspaper covers that had been devoted to locating and apprehending the escaped convict.

"That won't happen," Caleb assured him, though he didn't meet Dean's panicked eyes, because he _knew_ that he couldn't promise for _certain_ that something wouldn't happen.

"What if you can't help it?"

Caleb didn't answer—Dean always had a way of hitting the nail _right_ on the head—and in a situation like he was describing, Caleb honestly wasn't sure _what_ his reaction would be. If the cops tried to place him under arrest, he was sure he would either let them do it, or do the riskier option of running from them.

It was an impossible situation to be in. They had taken a huge chance by going to the hospital—but it had either been that—or watching Dean lose his leg to something that could have been prevented. With Bobby not answering his cellphone, Caleb hadn't had a choice but to drive him there.

"Let's focus," Caleb said, as the privacy curtain that had been drawn around Dean's bed, was slid back by the team of nurses. "On getting you better."

They didn't have much of a chance to speak after that. The nurses had come to take him back for the critical X-ray that would determine how much damage had been done to his leg, and if it was easily fixed or not.

"How long will it take?" Caleb asked, as they prepared to wheel him back.

"About ten minutes."

"Thank you."

Waiting until they were gone, Caleb walked down the main hall until he reached the front reception/waiting room area. Barely sparing a glance at the security guards that had suddenly seemed to manifest out of _nowhere_, he walked through the automatic doors to the breezy parking lot.

Taking out his phone again, he put Bobby's number through. Leaning his head back against the brick wall, he closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the sheer amount of stress that he was under. Dean's injury and being forced to go to the hospital, had completely gone against everything that he had done so far, in keeping himself concealed.

If he was lucky—which he was _seriously_ doubting—no one had noticed anything. If he was as _unlucky_ as he assumed he was—they would have noticed who he was—and had reported it.

When Bobby failed to answer again, and the option for leaving a message came through the automated voice mail, he took his chance, trying to think up the right words to describe the utter helplessness that he was feeling in that moment.

"Hey," he said, bowing his head as he reached up two fingers to squeeze some irksome tears away. "I don't know where the _hell_ you are, Bobby, but I need you to call me back as soon as you get this. It's pretty urgent, actually."

Hanging the phone up, he slid it back into his pocket, pausing in his frantic haste to get back inside. Now that he knew that Dean was in relatively safe hands, he tried to take a moment to collect his scattered thoughts.

It was hard—especially when his brain showed every single possible thing that could go wrong with him walking back inside the hospital—but he didn't have a choice. If Bobby, miraculously, received his message, he would be able to go there and be with Dean, but there was no way he was leaving Dean by himself.

When he walked back into the waiting room area, he was greeted by the sight of the same security guards that he had seen on his way out. Swallowing back the role of bile that was rapidly collecting in the back of his throat, he decided to ignore them for the time being as he brazenly walked up to the reception desk, determined to show them that he wasn't afraid of them.

"What can I do for you?" the friendly lady asked him.

"Yes," he said, forcibly ignoring the guards who had positioned themselves directly next to him as he spoke. "I was wondering if Dean Winchester was out of X-ray yet?"

"Let me check," she replied, as she briefly left her station to go confer with the attending doctor who had seen them.

"Excuse me," the guard said, obviously choosing that time to interrogate him. "What's your name, sir?"

Caleb sighed—dreading this conversation—because he _knew_ what the probable outcome would be for himself and for the boys. "Anderson Matthews," he replied, using the name that was on his fake insurance card.

It was a lie—and one that he hoped the guards would be too stumped to pick up on—not that he really believed he stood a chance. Not when his face would be easily identifiable to them when it had been showcased on every news station imaginable.

"That's funny," the guard replied testily. "Because when we compare your face to this one," he said, holding up a copy of Caleb's mugshot from when he had been processed through the prison. "The similarities are _bizarre_."

Caleb shrugged, somehow tearing his eyes away from the sight of his own face staring up at him. It was surreal, to say the least, and trapped in his lie, he tried to find some plausible explanation as to why they would have a mugshot of his face, and then have him deny it was _really_ him.

"I don't know what to say," he finally said, "but that's not me."

"You're saying," the guard said incredulously, "that this poster is not of _you_?"

"I believe that's what I'm saying."

"Are you Caleb Rivers?" the guard asked, getting right to the point of his interrogation.

"No."

"Are you aware that you're wanted for escape charges now?"

"That crazy son of a bitch," Caleb said, with a slightly forced laugh. "I heard about that, actually. That's not me, though, guys."

"Then tell us how _this_ poster and the person standing right in front of us, could be identical twins."

"I don't know," Caleb finally said, "but you have no proof, and you can't arrest someone based off assumption. It would be false imprisonment, and it'd be wrong. Now," he said, as he saw the nurse come back, "if you would excuse me, I need to find out what's wrong with my kid."

He began to turn away—hoping that the guards would leave well enough alone—but he was wrong. When the guard grabbed his arm and turned him back to face them, he sighed, trying to anticipate what their moves would be so he would better know how to fight them if it came right down to it.

"Fine. But don't leave this hospital."

"Fine."

Grateful that they were allowing him to leave in order to find out what was happening with Dean, he started to mentally formulate a plan of attack once he managed to finally get hold of Bobby. Obviously walking out the front door wouldn't be an option anymore, he would have to get creative.

"He's out of X-ray," the nurse said, once he approached her.

"Is he back in his room?"

"He is. The doctor will be in there in a few minutes to discuss the results with both of you."

"Thank you."

Shaking his head in disbelief at the swift turn that the afternoon had taken, he strode purposefully back toward Dean's private room, hoping that whatever they found wrong with his leg, they would be able to fix fairly easily.

The last thing _either_ of them needed was to go through something long and traumatic—especially if it involved an extended recovery period. Trying to put those thoughts out of his mind, he sighed before walking into Dean's room.

Though he looked paler than when Caleb had last seen him only minutes previously, he looked relieved that the worst was over as he glanced over at Caleb.

"Hey," Dean said, "where were you?"

"I was out trying to call Bobby, and then I got hassled by the security here."

"You _did_?" Dean demanded, his hazel eyes widening in a combination of horror and shock.

It was the last thing he had wanted to hear—even though it hadn't been completely unexpected—not with the way their luck had continually screwed them over. Still, it was upsetting as he raised a hand to absently wipe a few tears away.

"Yeah. I told them it wasn't me, but they clearly didn't buy what I was trying to sell. They let me go for now, but they said that I had to stay inside the hospital."

Dean shook his head. "_Perfect_," he said with a scoff. "They're going to try to arrest you for something they have no proof of?"

"I told them they couldn't—I don't think they really care—but I told them it would be unlawful to pin something like that on me when they didn't have solid proof."

"Right."

"So," Caleb said, changing the subject. "How did it go in there?

"It was alright."

Even though the doctors had tried to make the process as painless as possible for him—there was really no getting around the different positions they had him lay on—and even though the morphine had mostly kicked in, he still felt a little twinge when they positioned his leg the wrong way.

"Good. They said the doctor should be in soon?"

The sooner the better—that way he would be able to know for sure what was wrong with his leg and how they would go about fixing it. He hoped that it wasn't anything severe, that for once, luck had decided to play on their side and had granted them a reprieve.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Alright, good."

"Did you finally get Bobby?" Dean asked, his tone displaying the amount of doubt that he held in his question as he watched Caleb shake his head.

"Nope. One of these days, I'm going to bash his head in with that damn thing."

"Yeah," Dean said with a laugh. "Can I help?"

"You can hold him down."

"Deal."

Shaking his head in amusement, Caleb tried to settle down while they waited for the doctor to make his appearance. In some ways, even though he was anxious to learn what was wrong with him, he was relieved that he was being granted a break from getting anymore earth-shattering news.

In that instant though, the door was swung open again. Sighing, knowing that their brief moment of peace was over, Caleb looked up as the same doctor reentered the room.

"Okay, I have the results from Dean's X-ray."

"And?" Caleb asked, as he stood, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's the damage?"

"His leg is broken in two places. The damage that I was suspicious of from the spikes in the trap, was confirmed."

"_And_?" Caleb asked, raising two fingers to his eyes to swipe away the tears before they made their presence known.

"Luckily all the arteries were spared—if they hadn't been—he would have most likely bled to death within a few minutes. There _is_ some nerve damage, though."

Caleb nodded, swallowing back the roll of nausea that passed through his throat. "How—how bad is that?"

"He'll need immediate surgery if we have a _prayer_ of salvaging the nerve damage."

"Is that possible?" he asked, reaching back to squeeze Dean's hand.

"Yes—we're in a position to save them. It just depends on timing. Right now, the window is still open before the trauma is irreversible."

"Okay, so you need to do this surgery _now_?"

"Correct."

Accepting the permission forms that the doctor held out for him, Caleb signed it with a shaking hand as he handed it back. "How risky is this procedure?"

"With all operations, there's a risk factor. When you have these types of injuries, it's heightened considerably, but we've had very successful outcomes from these operations."

"Okay," Caleb said, as a nurse came back to administer the anesthetic in Dean's IV. "Can I be with him until you take him back?"

"Of course," Dr. Crane said, with a warm smile.

Waiting until he and the nurses had momentarily vacated the room, Caleb sighed before sitting back down in the chair that he had drawn up next to Dean's bed. "So," he said, squeezing his hand again, "pretty scary, huh?"

Dean nodded, biting down on his lip to attempt control over his bruised emotions. "Y-yeah, you can say that. I mean, this nerve damage he was talking about," he said, as a single tear slid down his face. "What does that _mean_, Caleb?"

Usually Dean was so confident in his body and how it worked, but with the knowledge that he had obtained nerve damage from the bear trap, it was terrifying. From his limited understanding, that usually meant that someone would lose the function of that limb.

With the life that they led, that wasn't even _close_ to being an option for them. Certainly, at thirteen, he couldn't imagine having to live life with an unusable leg.

"It just means that the pressure," Caleb said gently, his tone softening so he wouldn't stress Dean out. "Caused some problems with the nerves that control the movement and so forth. Usually therapy can straighten all that out."

"So he said it's fixable," Dean said, recalling the blessed words that the doctor had mentioned earlier.

"That's right—so once we get you out of here—I'll work with you on therapy. It won't be that much different from our regular training, except we'll do stuff designed around making your leg stronger."

"Okay."

"Once you go in, I'm going to book out of here and go back to the motel. Wait for Bobby there, and see if he'll come back here to take my place."

Dean nodded, not liking the idea of saying goodbye to Caleb, but also realizing that it would be the safest option for them if they wanted to avoid going through another legal nightmare.

"Okay."

* * *

Once the doctors had gotten back to the room to retrieve Dean, Caleb waited a few minutes before expertly sneaking down the opposite hall toward the emergency exit. The guards would be waiting for him at the front entrance, not the back.

Holding his breath on reflex, he pinned himself to the wall when a faculty member walked by. Once he had been assured that she was gone, he continued on his dangerous mission. When he finally cleared the building, he let out a sigh of relief as he jogged back to his car.

Sliding smoothly into the driver's seat, he started the car up, careful to go at an even pace so no one would have a reason to pull him over. Once he had turned onto the road that led to their motel, he allowed himself to relax in the slightest.

At least there he would have time to pull his thoughts together—and wait for Sam and Bobby to return from the interview.

Walking into their empty room, he dumped his things on the closest bed—his bed—and collapsed on top of it. Palming his face and holding it there, he looked over at the time. Nearly three—it had seemed like a lifetime ago that they had been calmly sitting in that very room, going over their plans for the day.

And now Dean was in emergency surgery for a broken leg with nerve damage—it was a devastating diagnosis—but luckily fixable.

When his sensitive ears alerted him to the fact that Bobby and Sam were back, he sat up straight in bed, fully intending on giving Bobby a piece of his mind about being so pigheaded about answering his phone.

"Hi," Sam said, as he happily bounced into the room.

"Hey, dude," Caleb said, plastering a smile on his face for Sam's sake. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah."

"Did Bobby give you some firsthand knowledge on how to talk to people?"

Even though that crucial part of Sam and Dean's training wouldn't come until they were much older—it had still been nice for them to know what it took to talk with people—and at the same time, dodge the horrible truth that was staring them right in the face.

"Yeah. It was boring, though."

Caleb laughed, shaking his head. "It's important, though. Remember that."

"I know. Where's Dean?" Sam asked, seeming to suddenly remember that his older brother was nowhere to be seen.

"He-"

"Hey," Bobby said, unintentionally cutting off what Caleb had been about to tell Sam.

"Where the hell were you?" Caleb demanded, standing up from the bed to meet Bobby at the door.

"What do you mean? I was at my interview."

"All this time?"

"Yeah—it ran late."

"What about your phone? Did you happen to see that I've called you about a _thousand_ different times?"

Bobby shook his head. "I forgot it here, and would you calm the hell down?"

"You have no idea what I've been going through the last few hours, have you?"

It was apparent Bobby didn't—from the way that he shook his head in utter confusion as to what the problem could possibly be—it didn't even enter his mind that something had gone wrong on the job.

"What happened?"

"We were out in the woods," Caleb said, shaking his head. "And Dean went to jump over a branch, and his leg met a bear trap."

"Is he okay?" Sam asked, his eyes misting over involuntarily at the thought of his big brother being in such a bad place.

"He's in surgery right now," Caleb explained. "He has some nerve damage, and the leg is broken."

The fact that Dean would have to have therapy for his leg, wasn't all that concerning for Caleb. Even though he wasn't a physical therapist, he still knew how to work all the parts of the body, and could help Dean regain strength in that leg once he was back with them.

"So what do you need me to do?" Bobby asked.

"Go back to the hospital," Caleb said bluntly. "The security there already interrogated me about who I was, and if I was really me or not."

"Oh, great," Bobby said, shaking his head.

"Tell me all about it."


	19. Chapter 19

With the knowledge that Bobby was going back to the hospital to take his place—Caleb allowed himself to attempt relaxation as best he could—even though he knew that he wouldn't fully be able to. At least not until he _knew_ that Dean had made it safely out of surgery for his broken and injured leg.

Swiping an exhausted hand over his face, he laid prone on his bed while Sam went in to take a shower. It was obvious that his brother's injury had shaken him greatly, and even though Caleb had tried to talk to him about it, he had deflected all his efforts.

It was upsetting for _Caleb_—someone who had seen the worst of the worst as far as hunting injuries were concerned—he couldn't _imagine_ how that would affect an innocent child who hero—worshipped his brother, and looked up to him to tease and love him.

As the sounds of the running water reached his ears, he turned over on his side, hoping to salvage at least _some_ of his remaining sanity by sinking down into peaceful oblivion for a few hours. Bobby had promised to make the all too important call when Dean had made it through successfully.

Until that moment came, however, Caleb was sure he wouldn't be able to rest. It was the same with Sam when he had been kidnapped by the YED. Even though Caleb and the rest of his family had exhausted themselves trying to find him, they hadn't been able to rest until they had been able to make sure he was safe.

The load, this time, was much heavier on the adults in the situation. The intense interrogation that the hospital security had subjected him to, had made him anxious. Not just for himself, but for the boys. If Bobby was found to be an accomplice in helping him escape, he could lose his custodial rights over them, and they would have no choice but to be placed in the system.

Shaking his head—trying desperately to ride his brain of those unwanted thoughts—he turned his head when the bathroom door to the right, opened, and Sam came out. Not really saying much, he went over to his and Dean's bed, and sat on the edge of it as he got his shirt and socks on.

"Did you have a good shower?" Caleb asked, trying to do anything to engage the kid in conversation, even though he had, so far, been resistant to his attempts.

Sam nodded, sparing him a glance. "Yeah."

"Good. Did you remember to wash between your toes and behind your ears?" Caleb asked teasingly, allowing a small smile to grace his features.

"_Yes_," Sam said, rolling his eyes, as he smiled for the first time.

"Alright, good, because let me tell you something, Sammy."

"What?"

"The girls don't like a guy who smells. They want them to be clean and smelling all nice, okay?"

Sam nodded seriously, as though this was the most important piece of advice he had ever received in his life. "Okay."

"What did you say?" Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I said okay!" Sam said with a laugh.

"Nope," Caleb said. "Come over here."

Watching as Sam got up to cross the few inches between their two beds, Sam sat down on the edge of his bed. "What?"

"Pinkie swear."

"Whatever," Sam said flippantly.

His remark was so characteristic of his brother—that Caleb was momentarily stunned—even though the two could fight like cats and dogs and could get on each others nerves, it was amazing how much Sam was emulating the brother that he secretly adored.

As they hooked their pinkies together, Caleb smiled softly. "So how are you, Sammy?"

Usually Sam was an open book with his guardians—unlike his older brother—but it was obvious that the feelings he was having about Dean and his injury, was something he felt like he couldn't divulge yet.

Not answering for a second, he ducked his head. Caleb could tell he was trying to contemplate whether or not to answer his question, and how honestly he would, if he decided to share anything.

"I'm okay," he finally replied.

"Are you worried about your brother?" Caleb pressed softly.

Sam nodded, and this time he couldn't keep control over his emotions as thick tears poured down his face. It was something he was normally _never_ afraid to do, unlike Dean, but he didn't want to look like a baby in front of Caleb. "Y—Yes."

"It's going to be okay, Sammy," Caleb said soothingly, as he pulled him into a hug. "You know how resilient your brother is, right?"

"W-What's that mean?" Sam said, hiccuping slightly.

"It means _tough_. It means that he's _strong_. Just like you are, Sammy."

Sam seemed to momentarily consider his words, before he shook his head. "Dean's the one that's all tough. I'm not."

"Yes, you are. How else would you have been able to survive what Yellow-Eyes did to you?" he asked, as Sam laid down next to him.

"I don't know," Sam admitted quietly. "I just kept hoping that I would see you again. That I would see Dean and Bobby, too."

"You had hope."

"Yeah."

"But what he did to you," Caleb said, his eyes momentarily tearing over at the thought of what that sadistic demon had put him through. "Normal kids would have crumbled, but you found a way to survive."

"I guess."

It was obvious Sam didn't want to keep talking about his captivity—and Caleb fully understood that—instead, he gave Sam some covers and watched as he slid down further into the bed, trying to find a comfortable position.

"How is it sharing a bed with your brother?" Caleb asked, after a second.

Ever since they had been forced on the run, the boys had been forced to abandon the privacy they had once enjoyed _away_ from each other, and take up residence on the same bed. It was something that had been hard for both of them to adjust to.

Especially since, according to Dean, Sam snored.

"It's okay," Sam said, as he curled up on his side. "He twitches a lot, though."

Caleb shook his head in amusement. "Well, he says that _you_ snore sometimes.

"I do not!" Sam said indignantly, denying his brother's statement. "_He's_ the one that snores!"

"Easy," Caleb said with a laugh. "Just repeating what he said."

Sam nodded, as he turned over to face Caleb. "How long does Dean have to be in the hospital?"

It was so different having his brother gone—it was weird having Caleb to himself—when his brother was always front and center in everything they did. A monster had made sure that Dean had been silenced for now, had made sure that he had been taken from his family to have surgery on his leg.

"We don't know that yet," Caleb replied softly. "It depends on how well he does during the operation, and how his recovery period goes."

Obviously for the sake of self-preservation, he was hoping that the hospital would choose to discharge him pretty soon so they would be able to hit the road again. It wouldn't be smart to remain in Iowa, not after the security had interrogated him while he had been where Dean was.

"What's wrong with his leg?" Sam asked after a moment.

"He has two breaks, and there's been some minor nerve damage. He needs therapy for that, but that's something I can probably work with him on."

"That way we won't have to stay in one place too long?"

Caleb nodded. "That's right."

It had been hard for Sam to adjust to learning a _whole_ new way of life—it was scary for him to sleep in motel rooms that could easily be ransacked by a thief—and it was scary for him when he realized how dangerous their lives had gotten, that they had needed to resort to running in the first place.

It all stemmed from their home in Minnesota—the police were incapable of seeing the truth about their family—and had instead chosen to make a target out of someone that they all loved. It was confusing, and it was hurtful that they had driven them out of a place that they had used to love so much.

"It's so weird," Sam said quietly, as he turned on his side toward Caleb.

"What is?"

"All the stuff that's happened since Jim..."

It was obvious that it was still difficult for Sam to talk about his deceased guardian—it had been six months since he had been murdered—and it was still something that was hard for them to think about.

"I know," Caleb said gently. "I sometimes wonder what he would think about all this craziness."

"He'd probably give us a lecture," Sam said with a laugh.

"Yeah, he was always good at those."

"I know," Sam said with a laugh. "Like, when I got butter all over my head."

"I remember that. Even though you were four and didn't know _what_ you were doing, he still thought he could make some kind of impression."

"Yeah."

"Getting tired?" Caleb asked, seeing the nine-year-old's eyes begin to droop.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"I bet. Get some sleep, and I'll wake you up if I hear anything about Dean."

"Promise?" Sam asked sleepily, as he drew as much of the covers around himself as he could.

"I promise."

* * *

Walking into the hospital, Bobby tried to prepare himself for anything. From what Caleb had told him, the guards had taken a special interest in him, and he hoped that he could avoid more of their scrutiny, though he wasn't holding his breath, either.

Walking up to the front desk, he waited impatiently as he drummed his fingers on the desk. Eventually someone took notice of him and came over to assist him.

"What can I do for you?"

"My name's Bobby Singer," he said, using the name that, if it came down to it, the courts would know him by because of the custody agreement. "I was wondering if Dean Winchester was out of surgery yet?"

"Who are you, sir?"

"I'm his guardian."

"Let me go check, hold on."

"Thank you."

Sighing, he took his cellphone out of his pocket. Even though he hated using it, he had promised Caleb that he would keep it on him from now on. No one had called him. Putting it back in his pocket, he watched as the lady came back out.

"He's still in surgery, actually. There were some minor complications, and that will push it back just a little bit."

"Is he alright?"

"He is—but it will be a little bit longer as a result."

"Okay."

Trying to satisfy himself with that answer, he began to walk over into the crowded waiting room until someone came out to get him. He should have known it wouldn't be that simple.

"Excuse us," two security officers said, as they approached him. "I heard you talking about Dean Winchester. Who are you?"

"Bobby Singer. Why?" he asked, knowing _exactly_ what they were there to talk to him about, and trying to mentally formulate a good response. Especially if they were the same ones who had interviewed Caleb.

"We were wondering...do you know Caleb Rivers?"

"I-"

"Because we're almost a hundred percent sure we saw him in _this_ hospital _today_. He denied it was him," they said, as they showed him the same mugshot picture they had flashed to Caleb. "But this picture says differently, and we know that you two are...close."

Of course they would.

Anyone from Minnesota would be able to tell them that they were a close, slightly dysfunctional family unit with the boys. It was one pitfall of choosing to stay in one place for so long. Especially when he knew that people were watching them.

"I haven't seen him in awhile."

A lie.

But one that was absolutely necessary for this to even have a _chance_ of being a successful outcome. If these people were as smart as they sold themselves to be, they would be able to see right through it.

"Well, that's funny, because we can't find him anywhere in this hospital, and then all of a sudden you show up. He said that his name," one of the guards said, "was Anderson Matthews. Is that an alias he uses?"

Yes.

But there was no way that Bobby was divulging that crucial information to them—swallowing back the lump in his throat that was born out of his fear for the boys—he shook his head. "I've never heard of it before."

"You don't know where he is? Even though he left, and then you appear all of a sudden."

"That's what I'm saying."

It was a weak lie—but there was nothing else he could say—especially when they knew that Caleb had vanished from the hospital.

"You can excuse if we find that unbelievable."

"You can believe whatever you want," Bobby said, as he began to turn away from them. "In the meantime, my main priority is making sure that Dean is okay."

"Just so you know," the guard said, his words stopping Bobby in his tracks. "When we call the police, which we are legally obligated to do when we suspect an escaped convict is in the area, you could be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive."

Bobby nodded, his blood turning ice cold. "Thank you for that."

* * *

By some miracle, Caleb and Sam had been able to take a somewhat peaceful nap. It was either the product of coming down from too much adrenaline, or they were just simply too exhausted from the excitement of the day.

Either way, it had been nice.

Caleb was first awakened by the sound of his phone ringing. Blinking one eye open in annoyance at being interrupted from his sleep, he reached out a blind hand to the nightstand where he had placed his cellphone.

Scrubbing a hand through his sore eyes, he flipped the cover open. "Hello?" he said, not able to stifle a yawn that attacked him by surprise.

_Hey_, Bobby's voice said, coming on the line.

"How is he?" Caleb asked, as he sat up straighter in bed, careful not to wake Sam up.

_Okay. He's still in surgery. There were some minor complications, but nothing to worry about. _

"Good."

At least Caleb would have a good report to give to Sam when he chose to awaken him. The weight that had been on his chest, suddenly felt a thousand pounds lighter.

_There's something else, though. I spoke with those guards that cornered you._

"Oh, yeah? What did they say now?"

_Nothing good—they're going to call the police, Caleb. _

Caleb shook his head in astonishment at what was happening to them. If it wasn't Dean obtaining a life- threatening injury, it was himself being reported to the police. It never seemed to end, and Caleb was beginning to wonder how much more of their crap he could take.

"Great," he finally said. "What else did they say?"

_Threatened to charge me with aiding and abetting if I was found to have known where you were hiding. _

"That's _ridiculous_-"

_But they _know_ they could prove it. Listen, Caleb, this is the _last_ thing I want to suggest, it really is, but if I were you, I would take Sam and I'd leave the state as fast as possible. _

For a second, Bobby's words didn't immediately register in Caleb's brain. Even though he knew that it would be the smartest choice to run, it had never entered his mind that he would do it without both of the boys with him, and of course Bobby.

His first instinct was to deny such a terrifying option—especially since the sole responsibility of making sure that YED stayed away from Sam—would be on him until they knew it was safe for Bobby and Dean to rejoin them, but he also couldn't deny the _genius_ of such a move.

It was horrifying—especially when he would be faced with breaking the news to Sam—but it would be the safest option so he wouldn't be faced with being arrested again.

"Bobby, how could I do that?"

_Easily—if you leave your phone here, the cops won't be able to trace you. Just get a new one when you get the chance—and make sure to ditch your plates as soon as possible. _

"What about Sammy? I don't think he'll be too thrilled about the idea of leaving without you or Dean."

_He won't have a choice—if he doesn't want to see you go back to prison—he'll have to leave. Just tell him that we'll all meet up at a later time when Dean's strong enough. _

Caleb nodded. "Okay."

_Are you going to do it?_

"Yes."


	20. Chapter 20

The enormity of the task ahead was too much for Caleb to even _begin_ to process, much less respond to in a rational way. It wasn't fair that, because of the corrupt and sadistic law enforcement, he was being forced to leave before Dean had the chance to go with thm.

It wasn't fair that he had to wake Sam up and break the news to him that he would have to leave with him before he got the chance to see his brother again. It wasn't fair that, for some reason, the police were incapable of seeing him for who he _really_ was, instead of the person that they had made up in their minds to fit their theories.

Pausing in his hurry to gather their things up, he looked back over at the bed. Sam was still fast asleep, his little body rising and falling beneath the covers as he breathed soundly. It wasn't fair to dump so much change on his shoulders in such a short amount of time. It wasn't fair that he would be expected to leave without his brother, someone who had always traveled with him on trips.

Sam had been a trooper throughout the entire ordeal—but there was only _so_ much one little human being could take before they crumbled—and Caleb was concerned that that time was right around the corner, as he quietly zipped up another duffel bag and laid it by the door.

Obviously he would only be packing for the two of them—which made the load a little bit easier—but it was still difficult to organize his _thoughts_—much less making sure the correct things found the correct bags.

Even though the idea of running, had been the only option, it was still scary. The security guards at the hospital knew what they had seen, and had responded accordingly. They were only doing the jobs laid out to them, but it still meant another nightmare for Caleb and his family.

Scrubbing a hand over his face once he had completed the packing, he sank down into the chair at the dining table, and pulled out his phone. He would be leaving it there so the authorities would have a more difficult time tracking him, but first he needed to make a call.

Putting in the correct numeral code, he brought his hand up to his mouth as he waited. The dial tone seemed to go on forever before the person answered.

_Hello? _

"Hey," Caleb said, "do you have time right now?"

_I do_, Dawn said. _I haven't heard from you in awhile. I was beginning to wonder if it all worked out or not._

The way she said it—like she had been seriously doubting whether their plan had succeeded or not—for awhile it had, but that wasn't the case anymore, and he needed to know what she had told the DA if they had interrogated her, and if she could keep covering for him.

"For awhile it did," Caleb said. "Like, _two days_," he added with a laugh. "But we have a _huge_ problem right now—or _I_ do."

_What is it?_

Just thinking about the insane course of events that had bordered that day, was enough to make his head spin. It was crazy that a regular hunt had turned into something so horrible. It was the facts of life when one dedicated himself to hunting, but it was quite another matter when a kid was injured.

"I have to leave this place ASAP."

_What happened, Caleb?_

Caleb shook his head, sucking back a huge breath as he brought up two fingers to squeeze the irksome tears out of his eyes. It wasn't _just_ the fact that he was worried sick for the boys, it was that he was also exhausted from the amount of running that he had done.

"Dean and I were doing a job here in Iowa, and it got pretty hairy. There was a bear trap that was hidden under some branches and crap, and he stepped on it."

There was a pause that was punctuated only by her sharp intake of breath, as though she understood _perfectly_ why he had to suddenly leave that place. _Is he okay?_

"Uh, well, he has to have some surgery on his leg. Its broken in two places, and then he has some nerve damage from when the trap snapped down on it."

_Did _you_ take him to the hospital?_

It was as though she already knew the answer to that question—but still needed to hear it to be sure. In that instant, Caleb felt sorry for her. She had been a wonderful attorney and friend, and he dumped all of his crap on her shoulders, even the secretive hunting part of his life.

So far she hadn't run screaming in the opposite direction—he took that as a good sign.

"I had no choice," he replied. "Bobby wasn't answering his phone, and he needed to see a doctor. He almost bled to death when we got the damn trap off his leg."

Another horrible part of that day. Watching as a river of blood poured from the wounds that had been plugged until the trap had come off. If it hadn't been for Caleb's quick thinking in stopping the frenzied flow with his hand and then using his jacket, he wasn't sure where they would be now.

_So what happened when you got there?_

"Nothing at first," he said, as he sneaked another glance at the still sleeping boy. "But when I went out to try to call Bobby again, the security interrogated me."

_Uh-oh._

"Uh-oh" didn't even _begin _to cover what he had been through with their interrogations and theories—right on top of hearing that Dean had to have _surgery_. It had been a wild afternoon.

"Yeah, tell me all about it. They even showed me a _freakin_' mugshot of myself, and said they could use that to arrest me. They didn't have any solid proof, especially when I denied it so strongly, but they just cornered Bobby, and threatened to charge him with aiding and abetting if they can prove he knows where I am."

There was a momentary pause from her—while she was thinking of her next response—Caleb took that opportunity to gather some more last minute things to take along with them. It wasn't easy to leave a place on a whim, especially when there was so much to it.

_So what's the plan now?_

"I need to know what you told the prosecutor, if you told him anything."

It would only be natural for the prosecution to harass her. Especially, if they knew that she was one of the last people that he spoke with before the escape, which had been true.

_I told him that, as far as I knew, you said something about going to Michigan._

That was good; Michigan was far from Iowa. It didn't make sense, then, that they would be so suspicious of him if he was supposed to be hundreds of miles away. Either they were more desperate than he thought, or someone had ratted on him.

"Alright. Sam and I, we're going to leave right now. Bobby and Dean are going to meet up with us when he gets released from the hospital."

_Okay, that's probably the smartest option for right now. The _last_ thing you need is another arrest under your belt. _

"I know all that, but it's still hard."

The last thing he felt like doing was leaving Dean when he was so sick, but a temporary separation would be much better than a more permanent one if he was hauled back to Minnesota to face more prison time.

_I know, _she said, her tone softening. _So where's the next stop?_

He hadn't gotten that far along in his planning yet—obviously it had to be somewhere far from the state so the police would have a harder time tracking him—but he wasn't sure where to stop so Dean and Bobby could catch up to them.

"I don't know. Somewhere far from here, though. We'll probably make a stop or two along the way, and then set up base someplace so Dean and Bobby can catch us."

_Okay. _

"Just so you know, I won't have a phone for awhile. I'm going to leave this one here, so they won't be able to track me. I'll get a new one the first time I stop somewhere."

_Probably a smart idea. _

"I thought so," he replied with a small laugh. "Alright, thank you. I gotta go."

_Be safe, Caleb. I'll hear from you soon, right?_

"Absolutely."

Hanging up with her, he powered the phone off, and then removed the battery from it. Not that it would do much good when it had probably been emitting signals all day long, but it was a start. Taking another look around the room and seeing that he had packed everything that there was to pack, he sighed as he went over to Sam's bed.

He hated doing it.

He hated waking the poor kid up _just_ to inform him that they would have to up and leave so the police wouldn't catch up to them. It was cruel to do it, but Caleb recognized that they didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

With how quickly the law enforcement worked, he wouldn't be surprised if they had people on their way to pick him up. It was with that thought in mind, that he reached out a shaking hand and gently shook Sam's shoulder, stirring him to consciousness.

It took a minute for the nine-year-old to fully awaken, but once he did, he looked up drowsily at his guardian, no doubt curious as to why he was being awoken from such a nice nap.

"Sammy," Caleb whispered softly, "come on, you have to get up."

"W—why?" Sam asked, as he tried and failed to stifle a yawn that attacked him by surprise.

"We have to go."

"Where?" Sam asked, sitting up straight in bed.

It didn't escape his attention that all their things had been packed and were waiting by the door to be transported to the car. It was something that, in his sleep-ridden mind, was confusing to him as he struggled to put the fragmented pieces together.

"I don't know," Caleb said, as he watched Sam make his way over to him shakily. "But we can't stay here."

"But _why_?"

"The guards are calling the cops," Caleb explained, his voice tight at the realization of what they would have to do in order to escape the police. It wasn't fair to either of the boys, but it was the hand they had been dealt.

"Did they talk to Bobby?" Sam asked, as he used his fingers to wipe all the crust from his eyes.

"They did—and that's why we have to go. They can't know where we are."

The plan made sense—especially when Sam was reminded of the fact that Caleb could be taken back to prison—but what _didn't_ make sense was the fact that they would have to leave without Bobby or Dean.

"But—but what about Dean and Bobby?"

"I know," Caleb said soothingly, seeing how upset Sam was beginning to get. "But they'll meet up with us when he gets released."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Absolutely," Caleb said. "But Bobby was the one who suggested this, and it honestly makes more sense than waiting around here for the cops to come and find me."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know. Where are we going?"

"I don't know yet. Somewhere far so they won't be able to catch up."

There was no set location on where they would stop—just somewhere far from Iowa and the watchful police force—it was scary for _Caleb_, much less a child.

"But will Dean be able to travel with his leg?" Sam asked, as Caleb gathered up their things, and wrenched open the front door. Even _that_ seemed like a risky move with the added worry of the police finding them.

"He should be," Caleb said, as he unlocked the trunk of their car, and deposited their things into it. "He'll be pretty weak for awhile, but I'll work with him once we see them again."

Sam nodded silently as he stared at the car, clearly wondering where he should sit. When Dean was with them, he always took the front seat, with Sam being allowed to use up the whole of the backseat for his resting pleasure.

"Where can I-"

"You can sit anywhere you want to," Caleb said, seeing the inward struggle that the child was having, and feeling horrible for him. "Anywhere you're comfortable."

"Dean always takes the front seat."

"I know," Caleb said with a small smile. "This can be your chance to take the top spot while you can."

Sam shrugged, clearly considering that offer. "Yeah, I guess."

Debating with himself another second, he finally slid into the front seat.

"Are you ready to go?" Caleb asked, as he slid in next to him.

Sam nodded. "Ready Freddy," he said, with a small smile.

* * *

The waiting period was never-ending. Each time a doctor or nurse came out of those illusive set of double doors, Bobby tensed, waiting for his name to be called, and each time he was sorely disappointed.

He hadn't heard anything about Dean's condition since he had been informed that he had suffered through "complications" but that those hadn't affected Dean in any negative way, only the time frame of the operation.

Sighing heavily, he looked over at the table of outdated magazines and picked one at random, even though he doubted it would do much good with the thoughts that were running through his mind. Not just of what could happen to Dean, but of what could happen to Caleb and Sam if they weren't quick enough in leaving the motel.

It had been hard to recommend to Caleb that he take Sam and leave the state. It was rare that the boys were ever apart from each other for more than a few hours, even while at school. It would be a completely new adjustment for them to have to deal with.

"Family of Dean Winchester?"

Snapping his head up, he was off the chair in a _second_ as he crossed the short distance between the sitting area and the short nurse that had come out to greet him.

"How is he?" he demanded.

"He's good," she assured him. "He's still feeling the effects of the anesthesia, so he won't be fully conscious for a few minutes."

"But he's alright?"

"He is," she confirmed. "The doctor will want to talk with you about a discharge plan, and therapy for his leg."

Bobby nodded, knowing that they already had that aspect of his recovery under control. If they could get to where Sam and Caleb were, Caleb would work with him on therapy so his leg would get stronger. "Okay. Can I see him, though?"

"You can if you want to," she cautioned, "but like I said, he's still under."

"Can I speak with the doctor, then?"

"Sure."

Leading him through the doors that he had hoped to be walked through, she led him over to a man in his middle to late fifties. Turning around, the man smiled politely and shook his hand. Bobby returned it, though he was feeling none of the politeness, and just wanted to get some answers as to how Dean was, and what the damage had been.

"Is this Dean's guardian?" the doctor asked, directing his attention to his nurse.

"Yes. Bobby Singer," the nurse said.

"Hi. Nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Adams, I performed the operation on Dean."

"How did he do?" Bobby asked.

"He did well. There was a slight issue at the beginning, where his heart rate dropped to lower than I was comfortable with, but it's fairly common and we managed to get it under control."

"Is that anything we have to worry about now?"

"Absolutely not."

"Good. What about this nerve damage to his leg?"

That had been one aspect of the ordeal that he had been most concerned about—it was slightly disconcerting to know that Dean had sustained such a serious injury from stepping into a bear trap.

"There were two areas that were affected. The sciatic nerve controls the back of the leg. That was the major injury from it being pierced by the trap. We managed to fix it though," he added, seeing the horrified look on Bobby's face.

"What about the other one?"

"And then the minor injury happened in the femoral nerve. It's the largest nerve of the lumbar plexus, and unfortunately, that's the muscle that helps to strengthen everything."

Bobby nodded, trying to follow along with what he was saying, even though he was far from being a medical expert. "Is that why he was in so much pain?"

"Yes."

"What about now?"

"We have him on morphine as needed, and then when he starts getting therapy we can adjust the pain medication as needed."

"Can he have outpatient therapy?" Bobby asked, knowing that would be the crucial question that he would have to have an answer for.

"Yes, that's entirely possible. It will be hard for him to move around, but that's something to think about."

"Okay, good. Can I see him?"

"Sure."

* * *

Walking into the recovery wing of the pediatric ward, Bobby tried to swallow back the massive headache he had gotten from hearing all that wealth of information that had been dumped on his shoulders.

When he saw Dean, he could see that he was awake. Plastering a smile on his face, he strode confidently up to his bedside as he pulled out a chair for himself. "Hey, idjit."

Dean smiled—it was a welcoming sight on his face. "Hey."

"How do you feel?"

"Stoned," Dean said with a weak laugh. "Better," he admitted.

"Good. What about your leg?"

"Still hurts."

"I bet. They have you on some pretty deep painkillers to keep the edge off."

"Good."

Bobby sighed, wondering how he was going to broach the subject of Caleb and Sam leaving ahead of them. Even though he knew that the logical part of Dean would understand such a move, it would still be upsetting that he couldn't be with them for the time being.

"So listen," Bobby said softly. "Those damn fool security guards that went after Caleb, they cornered me too."

"What happened?"

"Nothing—I denied I knew where Caleb was—but I had a conversation with him."

"With Caleb?"

Bobby nodded. "I did, and I told him that for the time being, it would probably be a smart idea for him to leave right now with Sam."

"Because of the police?"

Bobby nodded. "And then when they let you out of here, we can go and meet up with them."

"What about therapy?"

"Caleb can work with you on that."

Dean nodded, tilting his head up so that he was staring determinedly at the tiled ceiling. Bobby knew that he was fighting to keep himself under control, even though that wasn't even necessary when he was dealing with his family.

"Did they leave yet?" Dean asked, his voice broken.

"I think so. I told Caleb to leave his phone behind, but he's going to get a new one as soon as he can."

"Okay."

"It will be okay, Dean. It will be a few days, and we'll be able to meet up with each other."

"Not soon enough."


	21. Chapter 21

This was something that Caleb was used to—the long hours that he logged driving on the road when a new hunt came up on the plate—but what he _wasn't_ used to was the sense of urgency that this trip had as he turned sharply onto the nearest freeway.

It was the result of having the local law enforcement in the area, turn their attention on him when he had been forced to take Dean to the hospital after he had been injured in a bizarre bear trap injury. It was scary, especially when he was reminded of the fact that he was wanted for a serious escape charge.

After facing some harsh questions from the hospital security, he and Bobby had made the tough decision for Caleb to leave the state with Sam, with the plan of meeting up at a later point when Dean had been released from the hospital.

It wasn't an outcome that _either_ of them favored, but it was the one action that would guarantee them some level of protection against the corrupt law enforcement in the area. It still wasn't easy, and that was never more clearer than when Caleb had to break the news to Sam that he would have to leave before his brother had been released from the hospital.

Even though Sam had done his best to be understanding about the situation, and had gone along willingly, even taking the front seat that Dean usually occupied on trips, Caleb could see that he was anxious about the journey, and more importantly, the idea of anything happening to Caleb while they were driving.

Though they had left the motel as quickly as they could, it still didn't escape Sam's attention that the cops could still find them and separate them. Caleb, by going back to the prison he had worked so hard to escape from, and Sam by being forced into the dreaded foster care system.

With that thought in mind, he sank back against his seat, resting his palm under his chin as he looked out the window. Even though the sky was a beautiful red and yellow with the approach of sunset, it was hard to find anything pretty about it when it all had the potential of going straight to hell.

"You getting hungry?" Caleb asked, looking over at Sam, who had so far remained mostly quiet during their ride, which was highly unusual with how chatty he normally was.

"I don't know," came the reply.

"Well, you have to know," Caleb said with a smile. "Which is it?"

"Are we near somewhere we can stop?" Sam asked, finally resigning himself to the fact that, yes, his stomach was demanding his attention.

"We sure are."

He had seen several signs advertising restaurants and other fast food joints. It would serve them good to stop and give Sam a break, and also give Caleb a chance to stop and see about getting a new cellphone so he could stay in touch with Bobby.

"Okay, thanks."

"You are _very_ welcome, Sammy."

Sam smiled, clearly beginning to come out of his shell as he glanced eagerly at the passing shops and diners, as they pulled off the freeway. They drove a few miles down the claustrophobic city streets, before pulling into a strip-mall area that housed the electronic store Caleb wanted, and the food that Sam needed.

"Can I get dessert, too?"

Caleb nodded, before placing their respective orders, not able to deny the fact that it would be nice to fill his stomach with something _other_ than nerves, as he allowed them a brief rest in the parking lot while they ate.

"Hey," Caleb said, when he saw Sam's hand began to sneak down into the bag to snatch his dessert. "Eat your food first."

"This _is_ my food," Sam said, rolling his eyes, but not entirely able to pull off the effect when he erupted into a fit of giggles.

"You _know_ what I mean. Eat your salad and your chicken strips first. _Then_ you can be rewarded with your dessert after."

"But," Sam said with a cute pout. "What if I'm full by the time I'm done eating all that?"

"When have you _ever_ been too full for dessert?" Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sam was silent—obviously he knew that the argument had been lost—and while he wasn't too happy about it—he ate his food first, even though he was eyeballing the miniature pecan pie that he had gotten.

"Thanks," Sam said, once he had finished eating everything.

"Not a problem. Alright, so we're going to go into that electronic store and see about getting me a new cellphone, and then once I get it turned on, we can call Bobby, okay?"

Sam nodded eagerly, fully in line with that idea, as he hopped out of the car. "Let's go!"

"Okay, okay!" Caleb said with a laugh, as he and Sam raced each other into the store.

Once they got inside, they were more subdued, careful not to attract too much attention to themselves as Caleb quietly searched out the right aisle to shop for phones. It wasn't hard to spot the cheapest one, and the one that would be perfect for throwing the cops off their trail.

"Can we call Dean and Bobby now?" Sam asked, once they had paid for their phone, and had gotten back in the car.

"We can try," Caleb said, as he pulled back onto the road. "Do you want to dial it for me?"

With the knowledge that the police were looking for them, he was being extra cautious about how he handled himself on the road. Even something that he normally had no compunctions about doing, like talking and driving. He was desperate to not give them a reason to pull him over, even for something that was perfectly legal.

"Sure," Sam said with a shrug, as he bent his head low over the new piece of technology.

Sam, for all of his headstrong ways, was completely obsessed with technology. Any new piece of equipment, and he was all over it. Even something that was impossible for the adults to figure out, he would handle it in a second.

"Thanks," Caleb said absently, as he turned back onto the freeway. He at least wanted to be clear of the state before they stopped for the night. It would be awhile, but if he kept to the highway, he knew that he would be able to swing it fairly easily.

"Here you go," Sam said, as he handed him the phone once the number had been dialed.

"Thanks, kiddo."

"I'm not a kiddo!" Sam said in mock indignation.

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry." Caleb said, rolling his eyes, as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he waited for Bobby to pick up. "I swear, if he doesn't answer-"

_Hello?_

"Hey, Bobby, it's me," Caleb said, glancing over at Sam who was hanging on to every single word he spoke. "How are things there?"

_They're okay. There was a little more damage to the leg than they originally thought. He had two spots with nerve damage, but the most severe is _actually_ the easiest to fix._

Caleb nodded, trying to let those brief words of good news sink into his system. Even though no damage would have been the most preferable answer, at least they had something good to work with.

"What about the less severe injury?"

It was troubling that Dean was faced with additional nerve damage—but as long as it wasn't anything _too_ severe—he was confident he could work with him on that, as well.

_It was to the femoral nerve. That was the big one, too, the largest nerve in the leg, and luckily that was the less severe one._

"Okay. Where are you right now?"

_I'm in his room._

"Can I speak to him?"

It wouldn't compete with being there physically, but at least Caleb and Dean could still speak with each other on the phone.

_Hey_, Dean said, his voice coming through on the other end of the line. _You guys ditched me, huh?_

Caleb laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, totally. I couldn't wait to ditch. Seriously, though, how are you doing?"

_Alright. They have me on stuff for the pain, so that's awesome. _

"Totally."

_Where are you guys going to go?_

"I'm not sure yet. We'll probably stop somewhere for the night once we clear the state."

_Okay. How's Sammy?_

"Sammy? He's being a brat like usual," Caleb said, laughing at the outraged look that passed over Sam's face. "You want to talk to him?"

_Duh._

"Alright, I love you very much."

_Love you too very much. _

Passing the phone over to Sam, Caleb tried to pay attention to the various exits and signs, and let Sam and Dean have as much of a private moment as they possibly could. Even though that was a fruitless endeavor.

"Hey," Sam said, "I am, like, really mad at you for ditching me and getting all the attention for it."

_Yeah, this is my perfect idea of a ditch. Having my leg caught, and then going through surgery._

"When are you going to get out?"

_Hopefully soon—although I can't deny how _hot_ the nurses are here._

Sam shook his head in amusement. "Only you...so what's wrong with your leg?"

_I got it caught in a stupid bear trap, and my leg was broken. Some other crap is wrong with it, but it'll be okay. _

Sam nodded, switching the phone to his other ear to wipe away the tears that he could feel coming on. It was completely unfamiliar for him to be separated from his brother, and while he knew that it was necessary, it was still something that he was struggling with, especially now that he could hear his voice.

"Caleb's going to have to work with you?"

_On therapy, yeah. The less we have to stay in this stupid town, the better. Once we get clearance to leave the hospital, we'll head to where you guys are. _

Sam nodded. "I just...I just miss you."

_Why? _Dean said with a scoff. _You should be having the time of your life without me there to bug you all the time. _

"Well, yeah," Sam admitted, with a small smile, "but I don't, like, want you to be _sick_."

_I'm fine. I swear._

"Pinkie swear?"

_Yep. But I can't really do it through the phone..._

"A long—distance one?"

_Sure. I gotta go, though. Can I call you tomorrow?_

"Fine," Sam said grumpily, though he was only joking. "If you insist."

_I do._

* * *

Dean was exhausted—the surgery had been a success and had managed to fix most of the severe damage in his leg—but he was tired from the stress and from the very real fear that he had gone through that day.

He had been so excited to sink his teeth into a new job, and when that job had gone so horribly wrong, it had been a shock for him. Even though he would have preferred it if Caleb had been able to stay in town with him, he was relieved to have Bobby there, too.

"So how long do you think I'll have to have this ugly cast on my leg?" he asked, glancing over at Bobby, who had been watching a sports game on the TV.

"Until that leg is all healed up. With your freaky sense of healing, it shouldn't be too long."

"Hopefully not," Dean said with a sigh. "It feels weird not being able to move my leg like I want to."

"I bet. Maybe it will do its job and keep you from bouncing off the walls for a few weeks."

"Maybe longer," Dean said, remembering the nerve damage. "If we can't get the other stuff worked out."

"You mean with the nerves?"

Dean nodded, biting down on his bottom lip. "Yeah. I have it in two places, right?"

"Right—but it's fixable—and if anyone knows your body and what its capable of, it's Caleb."

"No kidding," Dean said with a smile.

Caleb had been his sole trainer since he had learned about the supernatural—whether it was regular training sessions which consisted of going at each other with the boxing gloves, or using the punching bag, they were a steady team together.

"So," Bobby said, "try to keep that enlarged head of yours up, and we'll see about getting you out of here."

"Alright."


	22. Chapter 22

Caleb was exhausted—a solid afternoon and night of driving would do that to a guy—and on such short notice, too. It was the result of too many things going wrong at the same time, and while he was used to rushing out of a place at a seconds notice, he _wasn't_ used to the exhaustion that he was presently feeling, as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Even though he had stopped and gotten a cup of life saving coffee, it had done little to keep him energized like it had been known to do before. Swallowing back thickly, he looked over at the kid riding shotgun.

Sam had long ago lost his battle with the rain man, and had drifted into a somewhat peaceful rest. Caleb wished that he could be afforded that opportunity, but instead, he was trying to suss out the perfect place to rest for the night.

There weren't too many establishments that he felt secure enough in taking Sam into—not without the much needed backup of Bobby and Dean—but he was quickly realizing that he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Either sleep in the car—which wasn't an option—or find someplace that he felt relatively okay about. Sighing, he made a sharp turn off the freeway, when one of the overhead signs started advertising rest areas.

They had left Iowa several hours previously—Caleb was sure he hadn't ever felt so conflicted about leaving a state as he did that one—even though it had been nice to leave the pressing ache of fear and dread that came from knowing the cops were onto him, he hated leaving Dean and Bobby behind, though it had been the one option that had probably saved his life, and _Sam's_ too.

As he adjusted his speed to suit the posted signs, he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of a motel or _hotel_ to rest up in. It was rare that they were given the chance to rest up in someplace fancy, mostly it was only the cheap motels they could afford, but Caleb was willing to pay extra as long as Sam was guaranteed to be safe.

Pulling into a Holiday Inn, he paused as he scanned the cars and the scene around him. Even though a place (or its residents) could appear totally innocent, he wasn't about to take any chances, as he reached across Sam and pulled out his gun from the glove compartment.

Better to be safe than sorry—tucking it into the back of his jeans—he made sure his shirt was covering it, before he reached over to wake the sleeping child up.

"Sammy," he whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. "Sammy, wake up."

It took him a few minutes to stir—his body readjusting to the feel of being back in the waking world—but once he did, he rubbed his eyes, groaning softly as he looked over at Caleb.

"What?"

"We're here."

"At the motel?"

"A _hotel_, but yes."

Sam nodded, glancing out the window at the welcome sign that had been built on top of the large structure. "How long are we staying?"

"Long enough," Caleb replied, as he and Sam got out into the chilly night air.

It wasn't easy for him to let go of some of the protective reigns that he had over Sam—but he knew that he needed to rest—and so did Sam. The hotel, while scary, especially when he factored in all the possessed people that the demon could have gotten to, would be their only source of a secure hideout.

Looking back at Sam, who had drawn his arms around his body in response to the bitter cold, he walked in ahead of him, and made a straight path to the front counter. Because of the late hour, only a handful of employees were around to assist him.

"Hi. Room for two?" the overly friendly girl asked, as she gave Sam a warm smile.

"Yes, thank you," Caleb said. "You take Mastercard, right?"

"We sure do."

"Awesome," Caleb said, as he slid his fake card across the desk to her. "How much will it be for one night and part of the morning?"

"Two hundred."

Steep—it was much more than he had ever paid for a motel room—even if the staying time would have been exactly the same. It wasn't anything he could help, though, and with reluctance, he allowed her to finish setting them up.

Sam's safety was more important than the money—if worst came to worst he could gamble or take on more fake ID's. Waiting until she gave him the room card, he hung back uneasily, glancing around at all the other residents of the hotel.

So far so good, but he wasn't holding his breath, either. Demons were masters at disguise, especially when they used innocent people to fit their goals. It was with that thought in mind, that he reached out and took Sam's hand, making sure that he stayed close by him.

"Here are you," the lady said, coming back with his room access card.

"Thank you. Let's go, Sammy."

"Okay."

Riding the elevator up to their floor, he was relieved that the hall was mostly empty as he walked over to the correct door and scanned the card. Hitching their bags on his shoulder, he walked in cautiously.

"Stay here," Caleb instructed, as he deposited their things by the front door.

Taking out his gun, he crept carefully across the spacious space. Opening the closet door slowly, he peered inside. Nothing out of the ordinary. Swallowing back the lump in the back of his throat, he next went to the bathroom door. Pausing, he threw it open. Empty.

Relaxing in the slightest, he beckoned Sam to venture further into the room. It had been a precaution he had to take, even though he knew that it had probably freaked Sam out more than anything. As he laid Sam's duffel on the bed further from the door, he took his own and slid it under the bed.

He wouldn't be needing anything out of it until morning—trying not to think about that time—he took off his shoes and laid down on top of the covers as he was. Looking over at Sam, he saw him sit down nervously on top of his own bed.

It was obvious he was still trying to adjust to moving from place to place—and more urgently—sleeping on a different bed nearly every night. It was a life that he had never wanted for either of the kids, but one that had become necessary for them.

It still didn't make it any easier. Especially when they were so undeserving of this life. They had never asked for any of it, but somehow evil always found a crack to crawl in through. If it wasn't monsters of the human kind, it was monsters of the supernatural kind.

Either way—their family had been marked—and Caleb and the people close to him, were clueless as to how to put a stop to the horrific chain of events that kept defining their movements.

"You doing okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "I'm just tired."

He had taken a long nap in the car—but the feeling of sleeping in a real bed—had been the one comfort that he craved. As he kicked off his shoes and socks, and climbed underneath the covers, he looked over at Caleb, clearly wanting the security that his presence offered.

"We'll sleep in a little bit tomorrow, okay?"

Sam nodded. "Okay, thanks."

"You bet."

"You think Dean's okay?"

Caleb nodded. "I think so—the doctors know what they're doing—and Bobby's there to make sure they don't screw up _too_ bad."

"Yeah," Sam replied, with a small smile. "True. Dean's probably loving it, though, flirting with all the nurses that give him the time."

"Probably," Caleb conceded with a laugh. "I have no idea where he gets that from. It certainly isn't from me."

"And _definitely_ not from Jim or Bobby."

"No," Caleb said, shaking his head. "Definitely not them."

Jim had been a pastor—and while some of the older ladies at the church had clearly shown interest in him—he had always politely put an end to their advances. Bobby, for all his rough and gruff ways, was completely clueless when it came to the girls, and even though some of them in Sioux Falls had shown interest, he hadn't known where to begin.

"I like this place. It's nice."

The only motel that Sam had ever stayed in before this one—had been the one they had just left—and while it had been a nice one, the floors had still creaked and the walls had been too thin, allowing all sorts of unsavory sounds to come from the other residents next door.

It had been more than a little uncomfortable for him to hear—and so he was relieved that this offered more protection against stuff like that.

"It is nice," Caleb agreed, as he wound his arm around the back of his head. "I wish we could stay here longer."

"I know. Where are we going to end up?"

"Arkansas, probably. It's right below us, and it will create enough distance between the cops and us."

Though they had long ago left Iowa, he was determined to make it as difficult as he could for the police to find them. The idea of anything happening to him while Bobby wasn't around, was absolutely sickening, especially when he factored in the real fear of Sam being shipped off to a foster home.

"Yeah, I know. Then we can wait for Dean and Bobby?"

"We should be able to—unless something happens that makes it impossible for us to stay."

In their line of work, that was entirely possible. If it wasn't the hunt, it was their human foes. It was anyone's guess as to which enemy would strike first. Reaching over to turn off the light, he stifled a yawn as he turned in Sam's direction.

The kid had been a trooper all afternoon—and he couldn't imagine that he _wouldn't_ be tired from all the excitement that he had gone through that day.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Caleb said.

"Can we get pancakes tomorrow?"

"You got it."

* * *

The first night was rough—it was learning a whole new sleep position—and it was adjusting to a whole different atmosphere than what he was used to. Even though Dean had spent his fair share of time in the hospital, it had never been overnight before, and it had never been for something as serious as this.

Bobby stayed with him throughout the entire night, calmly taking the recliner as his sleeping post. It was a comfort to have someone familiar staying with him, especially when the unfamiliar nurses and doctors came in at random intervals to check his blood pressure and do other vital checks.

When the first rays of morning light shone through his window, he sighed, palming his face. It had been a restless night of little to no sleep, and when he had finally managed to doze off, he had been met with a nurse poking something in his arm.

Another pain medication.

If he didn't have them—the pain in his leg was nearly constant—even though the edge had been taken off of it when he had the surgery the day before.

"Morning, idjit," Bobby said, not bothering to hide his yawn as he looked over at him. "Sleep well?"

"Like a baby," Dean joked, shaking his head. "You?"

"I was out like a light."

"I would have been if the nurses and doctors hadn't kept coming in here and poking me all damn night long."

If they hadn't been cleaning out the various tubes and IV's that he had been hooked up to, they had been giving him different shots. It was bizarre that they expected him to rest, and then kept interrupting that precious sleep he had been trying to obtain.

"Watch your language," Bobby warned.

"Sorry. How long do they plan on keeping me in this hellhole?"

"Until you're able to do some basic steps to show them that you're okay enough to go home for therapy."

"Like what?"

"Walk with crutches, that sort of thing."

"Wonderful."

"They'll probably want to see you walk a certain distance with them—or they'll want to do some minor therapy while you're here."

Dean nodded. "It won't delay my release, right?"

"We have to talk with the doctor today, but it shouldn't."

"Okay, good."

The last thing he felt like doing was staying in that place longer than _absolutely_ necessary. If he had to put up with using crutches for the time being, he would do it. Anything if it meant going back to where Caleb and Sam were. Leaning back against his fluffed pillows, he looked over as the doctor in question came in.

"Morning, champ."

"Hey," Dean said, by way of greeting. "Any wonderful news for me this morning?" he asked sarcastically.

"Well, let's see. The minor problem we had with your heart during the operation, seems to be gone, which is good," he said, as he consulted his notes. "What about your leg? How is that?"

"Painful—but better."

"On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst possible pain, how is it?" the doctor asked, as he approached Dean's side and took his blood pressure.

"A seven."

"Awesome."

"We were wondering," Bobby said, "when we could start talking about him going back home, especially if he's doing so well."

"Well, it all depends on therapy right now, actually. Do you want him to continue therapy as an _impatient_? Or as an _outpatient_?"

"Well," Bobby said thoughtfully, ignoring the horrified look that Dean passed over to him. "Is there any benefit to continuing it as an impatient?"

"No, but it will be harder for you, Dean, to get around at home, without your leg being stronger first."

Dean shook his head, gritting his teeth. "It's okay. I can do it as an outpatient. _Right_, Bobby?" he prompted, ready to strangle him if he agreed with the doctor.

"We can handle it," Bobby said reluctantly. "His other guardian is a trainer, and he can work with him, too."

"That works out," the doctor said, giving Dean a smile. "So I'll write a prescription for outpatient therapy. In the meantime, we want to wean you off the morphine before we sign off on release."

"Okay."

"What about traveling?" Bobby asked. "He'll have to be in the car for a few hours. Would that be a good idea or not?"

The doctor seemed to consider his question carefully. "Is it a truck or a car?"

"A car."

"If he can stretch his leg out in the back, that wouldn't be a problem."

"Okay, thank you."

"You bet."


	23. Chapter 23

It had been nice to have been granted the opportunity to lay down his weapons, and rest for the night. Even though it couldn't last forever—not with the way the police were tracking him—it had been nice to have been able to lay his head down, and know that he and Sam would be granted some peace for a few hours.

With the approach of sunrise, Caleb knew what would have to come next. They would have to pack up their meager supply of belongings, and head to their next location. It was a sad fact of the life that they had chosen to embark on.

Even though he knew they were in a relatively safe place compared to the shady motel rooms they had grown used to—it hadn't erased his fears of something sneaking in past the walls that he had carefully built around them.

Salt would only do so much when put up against some of the more powerful foes that he had to deal with. Sighing deeply, _sleepily_, he looked over at the clock, feeling as though he had been awake for hours.

Not to his surprise—the digital alarm clock showed that it was nearly seven—almost time to move on to their final destination of Arkansas, where hopefully they would be able to wait long enough to meet up with Bobby and Dean when Dean was released from the hospital.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he sat up stiffly in bed, stretching out all the sore muscles that had been a product of having not moved for hours. Barely stifling a yawn, he moved quietly around the room, gathering up their things that they would take with them, and placed them by the door.

One look over at Sam, confirmed that he was still out for the count. His body rising and falling peacefully in time with his breaths. The poor kid had been exhausted the night before—barely making it to that bed—before he had fallen into a deep state of rest.

Caleb hated to wake him from that precious slumber, but he knew he didn't have much of a choice. If they wanted to avoid running into the police, they would have to keep on the move to keep throwing them off their trails.

It wasn't something he favored, especially without the much needed assistance of Bobby and Dean, but he didn't have any other option. With that thought in mind, he walked over to Sam's bed, and gently shook his shoulder, propelling him to consciousness.

"Sammy," he whispered softly, when the child blinked one eye open blearily to focus on him. "Come on, kiddo, we have to go."

"Wha-" Sam whispered, palming his face tiredly as he blinked his eyes several times, trying to adjust to the rough transition from being asleep to awake.

"We have to go," Caleb repeated. "It's almost eight. We have to book it if we're going to reach Arkansas by tonight."

Caleb hoped that their luck would hold out long enough for them to wait until Dean was strong enough to join them. If not, he knew that they always had the option of meeting them later, but it was still a hope he and Sam had that things would work out for them to meet up in that state.

"Can we sleep longer?" Sam said quietly, his voice still rough from having not used it all night.

"You can sleep in the car. Right now, we have to go."

Sam stayed stationary for several more seconds—obviously trying to will his mind and body to obey what his guardian was telling him to. Not able to resist the yawn that attacked him by surprise, he shakily rose to his feet, running his fingers through his eyes.

"How long will it take us?"

"To get to Arkansas?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Most of the day. If we make good time, we can probably make it there before sundown."

With his driving—Caleb knew they stood a solid chance of reaching the state before dark—especially if he pushed the speed limit just a little bit like he was sorely tempted to.

"Okay," Sam said with a shrug, as he and Caleb quietly left their room, bags in hand.

It was one part of the life that he hadn't fully grown used to—the constant moving from place to place—and even though Dean had experienced that once before with their father, it was completely new territory for him to cross, as he followed Caleb down to the lobby.

"You doing okay?" Caleb asked, once they had checked out, and had walked out into the cool, early morning air.

"Just tired," Sam replied, as he slid into the front seat next to Caleb.

"I bet. Try to get some sleep, kiddo."

"I know."

Even though that would most likely be a lost cause. Sam was more apt to sleep the way he was used to—lying down somewhere as opposed to roughing it out in the car.

"Do you want to try to call Dean and Bobby?" Caleb asked, once he had pulled out of the near-empty parking lot, and out onto the early morning rush-hour traffic full of people trying to get to their respective jobs.

"Yes!"

It had been hard for Sam to adjust to being separated from his big brother—even though he knew that he was perfectly safe with Bobby—it was still difficult for him to be cut off from him when he was injured and lying in a hospital bed.

"Alright," Caleb said, with a smile, as he fished out his cellphone from his pocket, and handed it over to Sam. "Do you remember Bobby's number?"

"Yeah," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "What if he doesn't answer?" he asked, as he bent his head low over the device, as he punched the right number in.

"Then I'll kill him later."

"Can I help?"

"You sure can."

"Awesome!" Sam said, as he handed the phone back to Caleb.

"Thank you."

Turning onto the freeway that would be their main port of entryway to their next stop, Caleb listened to the sounds of the annoying dial tone, hoping that it wasn't too early and that Bobby would be near his phone to answer it.

Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, he sighed, as the phone neared its last ring. It was something that he used to enjoy teasing Bobby about, but now it was becoming more of a hindrance than an annoyance, as he glanced over at the anxious kid next to him.

"He's not answering?" Sam asked, glancing worriedly over at Caleb.

"Not so far-"

_Hello?_

"Hey, Bobby, it's me."

_I can figure that out for myself, ijdit, but thanks. What do you want?_

Typical Bobby, especially when it was early in the morning. Normally, he never liked to talk to anyone before nine, and he knew he was pushing it by an hour, not that he really cared much now.

"How's Dean? How did he do last night?"

_Slept okay—the doctors kept coming in and checking his vitals so he couldn't get the sleep that he needed—but other than that, he's doing okay. _

"When are they signing off on his release?"

The sooner they could all be reunited, the better. It was hard to be apart, especially when their lives had taken such a dangerous and unexpected turn. It was one of the main reasons why Caleb had agreed to stage a breakout in the first place.

They had strength in numbers, especially against any demons that planned on going after them again. It wasn't a position either of them favored, but one that was absolutely _essential_ for their survival.

_Uh, they want to make sure that he knows how to use the crutches first, and they want to wean him off the narcotics that they had him on for pain._

"How long should that be?"

_A few days, probably. They also want to sign a prescription for therapy, too._

"Okay. What about the problem with his heart?"

_Cleared up now. _

"Good. Is he right there?"

_He is. You want to talk to him?_

"Yeah."

Waiting the split second that it took for Bobby to put Dean on the phone, Caleb looked over at Sam and smiled, showing that it was good news for the time being. It wasn't perfect, but at least the doctors were working actively toward his release.

_Hey, _Dean said, once he had gotten on the line.

Caleb could tell he was tired from the sound of his voice—and felt sorry for him. The doctors expected him to get rest and sleep, yet their actions completely contradicted the emphasis they put on it.

"Morning, dude. How are you doing?" Caleb said, mindful of Sam hanging on to every word he spoke, desperate for information on his brother's progress.

_Doing _awesome, Dean said.

"Bobby said you had a good night last night," Caleb remarked, "except for when the nurses came in and poked you."

_Yeah, I know, _Dean joked, _I was _right_ here when Bobby told you. _

"Jerk," Caleb said with a laugh. "So are you excited to be coming home?"

_Do you even have to ask me that?_

"Good point. Just make sure that you're doing what the doctors tell you to do, okay?"

_I _know_, Caleb. _

"Alright, just sayin'."

_Well, don't_, Dean said with a laugh. _Is Sammy there?_

"Yeah, we just got back on the road."

_Toward Arkansas?_

"Yeah. You want to talk to him?"

_Yeah. _

"Okay, here he is," Caleb said, as he passed over the phone to an eager Sam.

"Hey," Sam said, once he had gotten hold of the phone.

_Hey, bro._

* * *

It had been a few days since Dean's hospitalization—and while he had been making great strides in his recovery process—the hospital wouldn't let him go until he had completed some entry-level therapy sessions with the crutches.

That was hard—until his injury he had been used to getting up and moving around as he pleased—and not have to rely on crutches to guard him against falling and re-injuring his leg. It was a harsh new reality that he would have to live with for six weeks while his bones were still healing.

After that, he would move on to the more advanced stage of his recovery—the therapy part that Caleb would preside over with him. Until then, though, he had to rely on the doctors and nurses to monitor his progress, and he was determined to not give them a reason to keep him any longer than they absolutely _had_ to.

Even though it was nice to get attention like that—it _wasn't_ nice to be in pain all the time—and then have to be weaned off the more stronger medications they had him on. It was a condition of his release, and even though he gritted his teeth against the pain, he tried to remind himself that it was for the best.

"Hi," his doctor said, as he came into the room, shortly after his conversation with Sam had ended. "Have a good night?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, unless you count your nurses coming in to poke and prod me every hour." He meant it seriously, although he tempered it with a teasing smile.

"I'm sorry about that. We have to monitor certain things, especially after a major operation like the one you just had."

"I know," Dean replied softly.

"So," Bobby said, "what's the news for today?"

"We got you off the morphine, which is good. We're going to replace it with something that won't be as potent, but will still be strong enough to take the edge off the pain."

"Okay," Dean said, "what about getting me out of here? No offense or anything, but the food here _sucks_."

"So I've heard," the doctor said with a laugh. "We'll see what we can do. Therapy is actually on their way down to teach you how to use the crutches, and evaluate how you've been fairing."

"Okay."

"What's the ETA on his release?" Bobby asked.

"If he does good in therapy today, we should be looking at the day after tomorrow, just to be on the safe side."

Dean nodded, even though he would have much rather heard that he could have gone home that day, if he did well in therapy. "Okay."

* * *

They had been driving steadily for a few hours—they were still several hours from reaching Arkansas, but they were making good progress. As promised, Caleb had allowed them a small stop in order to get Sam the pancakes he had requested, even though he hadn't been allowed to eat them inside the diner, and had taken them on the road.

"Were those good?" Caleb asked, glancing over at the kid, as he finished his food.

"Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Dean sounded good."

"I know. He sounds like my brother again."

Before, Dean had sounded exhausted from all the stress that he had been put under. It was nice to hear something different for a change, especially with the knowledge that he would be able to come and meet them soon.

"He does. The doctor sounds like he's doing a good job."

"I know. It will be weird seeing him walk around on crutches."

"It will only be for a few weeks, and then he'll probably be able to walk on his two feet again."

"I hope so."

Caleb was distracted from answering, by the sight of the police car directly behind him. Dread filling his heart, he waited until their lights went on, before panicking. It was the outcome that he had been most afraid of, and the one that could end up causing them the most damage.

"Sam, I need you be calm, okay?" Caleb said, seeing the horrified look on his face.

"But what if they arrest you-"

"It will be okay," Caleb said, as he began to pull over.

"Don't stop."

"We _have_ to."


	24. Chapter 24

Caleb dreaded having to stop for the police—even though he knew what would happen if he didn't—a probable shootout with them. Or having Sam watch as they took him down to the ground. Either option was out of the question, and it only fueled the dread that was resting in his heart as he hesitantly pulled over on the shoulder of the freeway.

Running a hand over his face, he tried to control the insane pounding of his heart as he watched the police car ease up behind him. The last thing he wanted was for the police to arrest him there, and have Sam go through the trauma of not only seeing that, but having no choice but to be taken to whatever facility they had for him.

As far as Bobby continuing to have custody of them, he knew that would be a long-shot. If he was known to have proof of where he had been hiding out, he knew the odds of him retaining his original custody, would be greatly diminished.

It was with those thoughts in mind that he turned to Sam—the child had remained mostly quiet throughout the tense drive—only really showing any sign of responsiveness when he had been pulled over.

It was obvious he was scared to death, and Caleb couldn't blame him. He had lived through seeing him arrested once before, but he had had Dean there for backup. What would happen to him if the cops arrested him, like he strongly suspected they would do with the right evidence.

"Caleb," Sam whispered, as the police officer began to approach the car. "We can't stop."

"I know, Sammy," Caleb said, his voice tight, as he tried to gain control over his fractured emotions. It wasn't fair—none of it was—and in that instant, they were putting Sam in danger by stopping them, and possibly forcing them apart. "But we can't let this get any uglier."

He knew that if it turned into anything violent, Sam would be caught in the immediate crossfire and that was something that he refused to allow to happen. It wasn't an option either way, and while he would have loved to have punched the cop, it wouldn't have gotten him anywhere.

Already, he was walking on thin ice because of the escape charge. The judge in his case had been lenient in reducing his sentence for the kidnapping conviction, but he knew that all bets would be off if he was captured and taken back to the prison.

In addition to the horrific kidnapping charge, he would now have an escape charge under his belt. That meant that, not only would he not be leaving the prison earlier than originally thought, he would also be under tighter security control, thus eliminating the possibility of easily escaping again.

It wouldn't be impossible—but it would be much harder than it had been before.

"I don't want you to get arrested," Sam said, swallowing back a sob as he looked at Caleb. "I'm scared, Caleb."

"Sammy, don't be," Caleb said soothingly, as the cop reached their car. "It will be okay, I promise you that."

Even though he would have no idea how he would manage to swing that, he was determined to make it so for Sam's sake. The poor kid had been through enough already, without the police adding to his list of nightmares. Tightening his hands over the steering wheel so they would be easily visible to the police, thus reducing some of their immediate suspicion, he obeyed the officer when he gestured for him to roll down his window.

"License and registration, please," the officer instructed coolly.

Caleb nodded, swallowing thickly, as he got the required information out of the glove compartment. "Here."

"Thank you."

Watching in the rearview mirror as the officer walked back toward his patrol car, Caleb tried to relax, though it was nearly impossible. It wouldn't take an idiot to recognize him, most in a position of authority, already had.

The only question was how bad the consequences would be for him. Without a doubt, unless he did something stupid, he knew he would be going back to jail, and the cops would take Sam and place him in the dreaded foster care system, far removed from his brother and Bobby.

"Alright," the officer said, once he had come back to the car. "I need you to step out please."

"Okay," Caleb said, reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt, but was stopped by Sam's trembling hand. "Sam, I have to get out," he said, his voice breaking.

"No. Please! I can't lose all of you!"

"You won't," Caleb assured him. "But I have to do this right now."

Feeling his heart break at the look on Sam's face, he numbly got out of the car and walked with the officer behind his squad car. The officer wasn't saying much, but he knew what the gist of the conversation would be, and it made him sick.

"Are you Caleb Rivers?"

"No," Caleb said firmly, placing his arms over his chest, as he forced himself to stare back at the calm expression the officer was giving him.

"This mugshot," the officer said, once again showing him the picture that he had seen a thousand times by then. "Says differently."

"It's not me. It's someone that-"

"Cut the crap," the officer said. "We've been tracking you. Somehow, you always manage to slip through the cracks, no matter what we do. We almost caught you back at the Inn, but you were gone before we could get there. How do you do it?"

Caleb didn't answer—he refused to dignify their answer with a response. Instead, he turned his head and looked back at his car. Sam was leaning over the seat, clearly observing everything that was going on, even though he couldn't actually hear the conversation that was going on between the officer and his guardian. Giving Sam a small smile, he turned back to the stern-faced officer.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he finally said, once the officer made it clear he was expecting an actual response. "It's not me."

"We know it is. You denying it just prolongs the inevitable. We had you on prison security footage escaping, and then we caught the exact same face on the hotel footage."

"I don't know-"

"Enough," the officer said, "turn around and put your hands behind your back. You're under arrest for felony escape."

Caleb only had a split second to decide what his course of action would be when given that command. Sighing deeply, he turned and put one hand behind him. Wincing as the officer applied the first cuff, he breathed deeply, as he turned sharply around, pushing the officer away from him, as he was about to apply the second cuff.

The officer had been knocked to the ground by the force of the shove—giving Caleb enough time to reach the car. Sam, jolted by the adrenaline rush, grinned as Caleb got the car back into high gear, ignoring the officer who had scrambled for his car.

He had really done it now—and he knew that. It wouldn't be easy to overthrow the police—especially when he called in for backup. Tightening his control over the steering wheel, he tried to think past the insane pounding of his heart, as he focused on exits that he could take at a seconds notice to evade them.

"Sam," he said, speaking deliberately. "Look for any turn-offs, or exits that we can pull off on."

"Okay."

Still revved up from the excitement of it all, Sam's keen and observant eyes searched out appropriate exits for his guardian and he to pull off on. Most would be easy for the cops to follow him off on, but he was looking for ones where he could lose them suddenly.

"Right there?" Sam suggested, seeing one coming up.

"Yep," Caleb said, counting down in his head the seconds that would determine whether or not his trick would be a success or not. When he was almost to the point where he would pass the exit altogether, he turned sharply and barely missed going into the ditch.

Looking back behind him, he saw the cop car struggle to realign itself and follow him. It hadn't completely driven past the exit like he wanted, but it had slowed it down. Grinning triumphantly, he increased his speed, hoping to avoid more of the same as they cruised through the small town, which had no idea of the hell that had suddenly come down on it.

"Where are we going now?" Sam asked, looking over at Caleb.

"Find another highway to get onto."

That was one reason why he loved freeway traveling—it allowed him to legally travel at higher speeds—and that would be essential if he was to really lose the police for the time being. Trying to control his breathing, he kept his eyes peeled for another turn-off.

"How long will that be?"

"Hopefully very soon," Caleb replied, as he kept one eye on the road, and the other on the road ahead of him, looking for signs that they were approaching the freeway that he wanted.

"Will the cops find us?"

"Probably at some point, but hopefully we can put enough distance between us to be able to reach Arkansas."

"Okay. Then Bobby can help us?"

"Exactly."

Bobby had many useful contacts that would be able to aide them if worst came to worst, and that was what he was hoping for, as he finally found the right turn-off that he wanted. It felt relieving to be able to get back on the relative security of the highway, and know that they stood more of a chance that way.

"It shouldn't be too much longer," Caleb said, catching the look that Sam passed over to him.

"Okay."

* * *

It was difficult learning to walk with the crutches—especially when he was used to walking a completely different way—it was disconcerting to know that, for the next few weeks, that would be Dean's primary source of movement whenever he needed to go someplace.

"Very good," the therapist praised.

"Thanks," Dean said, finally dropping the much hated objects, and dropping down into a chair. "How did I do?"

"Very well. Now you know," she said firmly, knowing very well how resistant Dean was to the idea of moving himself around like that. "You have to use these. It's not up for debate."

"I know."

"I'll make sure he uses them," Bobby said, jumping into the conversation.

"Okay," the nurse said, with a smile.

"When can I go home?"

"Tomorrow."

Finally he would be allowed the precious sanctuary of being allowed to go back home and be with his brother and Caleb—even if it wasn't the home that he had left—at least he would be going back to the rest of his family.

That trumped the endless hours he had spent cooped up in the place, and it had beaten the torturous early therapy sessions he had to endure before he had officially been given clearance. Walking, with assistance, back to his room on his crutches, he gratefully collapsed down on his bed.

"Are you excited about going back home tomorrow?" Bobby asked, sensing how urgent the kid was.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Have you heard from Caleb or Sam?"

Even though it had only been a few days since he had last seen them, it was still hard. Especially with not being able to see Sam, who he loved and was protective over. And Caleb, who he shared his incredible bond with. It was definitely hard for him.

"Not since this morning."

"Okay."

"I'll try to call them in a few minutes."

"Okay."


	25. Chapter 25

Once again, the stakes had been raised higher. Now he knew that he had _really_ done it this time. Assaulting a police officer for one, and evading arrest on the other hand, plus whatever other ridiculous charges the DA tacked on. Mainly endangering a child, even though they had no idea that _they_ were the ones who had done the endangering, not him.

It was still a heavy burden to carry—he had catapulted he and Sam into an impossibly dangerous situation. Even though he tried to stay close to the freeways, there was only so much protection the speedway could offer him, as he kept one eye on the road in front of him, and the other on the rearview mirror, keeping a lookout for the police that sought them.

Though Sam had remained mostly quiet during the tense ride after the standoff, he was now getting restless, (much like his guardian was), as he glanced nervously out the window. It wasn't something that he had ever been used to before, but now that the cops had made it impossible for them to remain at home, he had quickly started to learn about the other side of the hunting life that his guardians had never wanted him to know.

Swallowing back thickly, Caleb glanced over at the nine-year-old. His face was determinedly stoic as he looked out the window at all the passing cars and trucks, though that wasn't what he was looking for, and Caleb knew it.

"How are you doing, Sammy boy?" he asked quietly, as he reached over and rubbed to rub his shoulder.

Sam shrugged, not bothering to pull away from the touch like he was normally known to do when he was irritated or worried about something. It just went to show how much he was craving that comfort in the face of something so horrible almost happening to his beloved guardian.

"Okay," he replied quietly, once he was aware that Caleb had been expecting an _actual_ response from him.

"Come on, Sam. I know you better than that."

"It was scary," Sam admitted, raising his arm to attempt to discreetly wipe the incoming tears from his eyes. "Seeing them do that to you. Did you _know_ that you were going to hit the cop when he started cuffing you?"

Caleb paused, considering his words, before he nodded. "I knew that I was going to do _something_. It wasn't an option for them to have control over me anymore, especially knowing that you would be put in danger by being separated from me."

Sam nodded. "What can they do to you _now_?"

"If they catch me," Caleb reminded him. "If they do, assault of a police officer. Possibly child endangerment."

For the first time, Sam looked truly startled, as he glanced over at Caleb in a panic. "Why would they charge you with _endangerment_?"

"Because I escaped from an officer, got in a car chase with them, and you were involved in it. They take those kinds of things seriously, Sam."

"But _they_ were the ones putting me in danger. Not you," Sam contradicted, struggling to understand how that could be true, when all Caleb had ever done was try to protect he and his brother.

"I know, but they see the world and the laws that define us, in black and white. For the police, there's no room for understanding, Sam."

It was a startling new reality for a kid who had been raised to believe that the police were his friends—people who could help he and his brother. It was weird to know that it wasn't so, that the police could actually end up _hurting_ them.

"I thought they were always supposed to help us," Sam said softly.

"They can sometimes, but they don't understand what we do, and so it makes it more difficult for us."

"When are we going to be there?" Sam asked, clearly done with discussing that topic.

"In about an hour or two."

They had made good time so far, and Caleb hoped that they could continue on that streak without encountering any other law enforcement to stop them. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he looked over his shoulder once again, saw that it was clear, and kept going.

"Then we can stay and wait for Dean and Bobby?"

Caleb nodded, attempting to plaster a smile on his face for Sam's sake. "Yeah, if we don't get any new evidence that the police are tracking us there."

It was always a possibility—especially now that he had taken a huge risk with that police officer. It would make finding a place to stay that much more difficult, especially if the hotel or _motel_ employees ratted them out.

"Good. I miss them."

"I know you do. I miss them, too. Well, maybe not Bobby," Caleb joked, "but I miss Dean."

"Yeah," Sam said with a laugh. "We seriously have to keep reminding Bobby to answer his phone when we call."

"I know."

Caleb could only imagine Bobby's reaction when he learned of their run-in with the police. It would mean that meeting up with each other, would be made harder with the knowledge that the police would probably be watching Bobby's every move to see if he would lead them to him or not.

"What do you think he'll say about what the cops did now?"

"He'll probably kill me," Caleb said with a laugh.

"Or them."

* * *

Today was the day—after nearly four days in the hospital—and endless hours of restless sleep, Dean was _finally_ getting the chance to go home. Once he had proved himself in therapy, his doctor had signed off on his release, with the strict instructions that he was either to use a wheelchair or the crutches to get around.

Of course he had flat-out rejected the idea of subjecting himself to wheeling around in something when he could handle the crutches perfectly, even though he hated doing it. For his entire life, he had been used to walking around on a whim, and now that he had to think over every step he made, it was something he hadn't entirely reconciled himself to yet.

But it was a small price to pay for freedom—and that was what he tried to keep in mind—as he watched Bobby converse with the doctor who had presided over his discharge. Of course, he had to agree to go to therapy, but he knew that Caleb would be helping him with that, and he honestly preferred it that way.

"Are we ready?" Dean asked, once Bobby had walked back over to him.

He had been sitting—rather uncomfortably—in one of the waiting room chairs. His leg had been propped up on the chair across from him. While he had been glad to have the chance to leave his stuffy room, he was anxious to go outside and get back in the car.

"Yes," Bobby said, handing him his crutches. "You need any help getting up?"

Not surprisingly, Dean shook his head. "I got it." The therapist that had worked with him briefly, had given him pointers on how he could easily move from the sitting to standing position, and with a little effort, he managed it on his own.

"Good job. Now you know that these have to be by your side for the next five weeks, right?"

"I know," Dean said quietly, as he finally got a taste of the fresh air that he had been looking foreword to. Bobby had pulled the car up right next to the entrance to the hospital, allowing Dean minimal effort in getting to the car. "Thanks."

"No problem."

Even though he would have _loved_ to have taken the front seat instead of the back, it wouldn't be the healthiest option for his injured leg. Sighing deeply, he carefully slid into the backseat, allowing Bobby to assist him in stretching out his leg over the backseat.

"Thanks."

"You bet."

When Bobby started the drive, he allowed himself to feel a little bit of excitement. It was a nice change to replace the constant feelings of pain and anxiousness that had dominated his stay at the hospital.

"How long will it take us to get to Arkansas?" Dean asked.

"A day or two."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Sam and Caleb are still on board with meeting us there?"

The whole point of Arkansas was that it was far-removed from the toxic environment that Minnesota had become—and it was far from Iowa where the police had, once again, picked up their trail. It was a fact of their life that they could never escape from prosecution for good.

Sooner or later, the ball would always drop. It was just a matter of how well—prepared they were to handle the consequences of it.

"As far as I know."

"Good."

"You've missed them, haven't you?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

For nearly nine years he had lived with Caleb and Sam, and during that time, they had become a family. It wasn't always about blood or DNA that made a family, and Dean had quickly realized that fact about their family.

It was a none-traditional, slightly dysfunctional family, but it was a _family_ nonetheless. It was that security that Dean had craved right from the start, and that was what he had gotten in spades.

"If we hurry, we can make it there pretty fast."

"Okay. Have you called Caleb yet?"

"No, not yet. I was just about to, though."

"Alright. I was just wondering," Dean said, as he let a yawn escape from between his clenched teeth.

"Tired?"

"Hell yes."

"Watch it," Bobby warned.

"Sorry. _Heck_ yes."

"Try to sleep if you can."

"I'll try."

Although Dean wasn't holding out much hope for that plan—it would be hard for him to sleep in the backseat and have to worry about the position of his leg, and if he was putting it in danger of further injury or not.

"We'll be at the first stop in a few hours."

"Okay."

At least then he would be guaranteed some rest on the stiff motel beds. Trying to let the idea that he would soon be reunited with Caleb and Sam sink in, he carefully adjusted his position so that he was somewhat comfortable, and closed his eyes.

* * *

It was nearly dark by the time Caleb and Sam passed the sign welcoming them to the state of Arkansas. It was hard to believe how much things had changed from the time they had left their motel to now. In the space of a few hours, they had gone from being enshrouded in relative privacy, to now being wanted for another charge of assaulting an officer.

Just thinking about it made Caleb _furious_—those idiots had no idea what they were even talking about—and had put their family at risk because of their assumptions. It was heartbreaking, especially because Caleb knew the kids didn't deserve the amount of stress that it put them under.

Even though they were somewhat safe now that they had managed to elude the police for the time being—it didn't erase the fear in Caleb's mind as his sharp eyes searched out a spot to rest up for the night.

They could keep driving, sure, but he wanted to rest up somewhat relatively close to the border so Dean and Bobby would be able to find them easily. Spotting a flickering vacancy sign up ahead, he had a split second to think about it, before pulling off the interstate and into the near-empty parking lot.

It was a guessing game—deciding which motel would be the safest for them to go to. They had no clue whether someone would rat on them, or keep their mouths closed. It wasn't easy, and that was part of the life that Caleb would have gladly gotten rid of if he could.

"We're here," Caleb said, looking over at the kid, who had so fst remained mostly silent throughout the duration of their journey.

"I know," Sam replied, as he stretched out in his seat, before getting out and going around back to get their bags. "Is this where we're going to wait for Bobby and Dean?" he asked, looking at the two-story motel establishment that loomed before them.

"If we can."

There was no promise that they would be able to stay—not if he got wind of the fact that the police were closing in again—it wasn't something that he envied having to do, but recognized that it might be necessary.

"You mean if the police-"

"Yeah," Caleb said, with a nod, as he finally got out. "Stay behind me, okay?"

"Okay."

Caleb tried not to make direct eye contact with the employee who checked them in and gave them the room, though he knew that would only go so far in protecting them. Once they were safely locked into the room, he directed Sam to the furthest bed from the door, and placed his things under the bed.

"You hungry for something?" Caleb asked, looking over at the kid, as he sat himself uneasily on the edge of the bed.

"What is there?"

"Nothing right now. We'd have to go get something."

It was obvious Sam wasn't in favor of that idea, and Caleb didn't blame him. The less people saw of them, the better, but sometimes it was impossible to keep that shroud of secrecy.

"Do we have to?"

"If we want to eat."

Sam nodded, obviously deciding that his hunger was more urgent than the sense of self-preservation, and Caleb didn't blame him. Hesitantly, Sam got up from the bed and followed Caleb out the door again, keeping his head down as they got in the car.

"Can we go somewhere close?" Sam asked, as Caleb pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the road.

"Yeah, that's what I was planning on. We can run in and get a ready to go pizza or something. You want anything particular on it?"

Sam shrugged. "Just cheese," he said with a grin.

"I think I can handle that," Caleb teased back.

"You better."

Once they had gotten their food and had safely made it back to the motel without incident, Caleb tried to allow himself to relax so he wouldn't freak Sam out anymore than he already was. Instead, he tried to enjoy his pizza with Sam, and not think about the fact that his name would be out there in the news even more than it had been before.

"This is good," Sam remarked, halfway through their meal.

"It is. Pizza always hits the spot, remember that," Caleb said.

"I don't need any reminding."

"True. I was going to call Dawn, and then I'm going to call Bobby and see where they are."

"Can Dawn help get the police off our backs?"

Sam had had very little interactions with Caleb's attorney/friend. She was someone who had managed to help him out of a variety of bad spots. Even believing him when he had finally told her about the supernatural aspect of his life. As far as Caleb knew, she had fed a bunch of false reports to the police about where her client was, and while that had probably helped, it hadn't ended up doing much in the grand scheme of things.

"Hopefully."

It was that thought in mind, that he picked up his phone and began dialing her number. Sighing when her voice mail came on, he hung up the phone and dialed Bobby's number.

_Hello?_

"Hey, it's me."

_Where are you?_

"Just reached Arkansas about an hour or two ago."

It had been exhausting—and fraught full of nightmares—but they had reached it. It was a miracle, in a lot of ways, that he had managed to get he and Sam there relatively unscathed. It was their continued luck in that department, that he was concerned about.

_We just got on the road this morning. It will probably take us about a day or two to get where you guys are. _

Caleb nodded, remembering it being almost exactly that long when he and Sam had traveled that. It didn't make his anxiety over the police finding them, any easier though.

"Just try to speed it up a little bit, if you can."

_Why?_

"We ran into the cops. Or the cops ran into us," Caleb said, shaking his head in disbelief at what had happened.

_Balls! Are you kidding me?_

"Do I sound like I'm kidding you?" Caleb asked bluntly.

_What in the hell happened? How did you get away?_

"Punched the cop in the face as he was trying to arrest me. Jumped in the car and Sam and I booked."

_How did you get away after that?_

"We lost 'em on the highway."

_You idjits are trying to kill me_, Bobby grumbled.

"So just be careful, and try to get here."

_We will._


	26. Chapter 26

It was nearly _impossible_ to relax—not with the knowledge that he had of the fact that the police were actively looking for him now—they would be idiots _not_ to be. The motel that he and Sam had stopped at to attempt to wait for Bobby and Dean, only offered them minimal protection against the police force out there, and what they would do to him if they found him again.

There would be no question that they would extradite him back to Minnesota to serve out the remainder of his sentence for kidnapping—and then be forced to put up with whatever extra charges the DA tacked on for his altercation with the officer, and his escape.

It wasn't a bright future any way he looked at it. Sam and Dean would be the ones _most_ affected by whatever the corrupt law enforcement decided for them. Either Sam would be placed in the foster care system and be put in irrevocable danger, or Bobby would be allowed to retain his original custody of them.

That was highly doubtful—not if he was proven to have known where Caleb had been hiding all that time—he would be charged himself with aiding and abetting a criminal. Even though Caleb knew it wasn't really like that, it seemed that the only goal these people were fixated on, was tearing their family apart.

The only thing their actions did, was tear them apart. Either they were forced apart by Caleb being subjected to a lengthy jail sentence, or they were being forced apart by the sheer fact that they had no choice but to run from the only place that had ever felt like _home_ to them.

It wasn't fair—none of it was.

The life had certainly _not_ afforded them any perks—and had put the ones that they loved in danger—and put two innocent boys in the position of losing the people that had raised and loved them from the time they were toddlers.

Sighing deeply, he turned away from the window that he been observing everything outside from, and turned back to the room. Sam was lying underneath the covers, not yet asleep, but watching Caleb's every move as he went to his own bed and sat down, putting his face between his hands.

"What are you thinking about?" Sam asked.

"How royally screwed we might be."

"Because of the cops?" Sam guessed, propping himself up on one elbow to study his guardian.

"Yeah. They _certainly_ aren't making things easy for us, are they?"

Sam shook his head silently, chewing down on his bottom lip. "No. I know that they don't know what we do, but why can't they see what a good person you are?"

Caleb shrugged one shoulder, finally lifting his head to look at Sam. "I don't know, dude," he said quietly, his voice rough. "They think I'm a _bad_ person, and nothing we do will be able to change that opinion."

He had no idea why the police had focused so intently on him. He had no idea what made him so special to them, but for some reason they had targeted him, and because of that, a chain of events had gone into play that _never_ should have happened. The boys should have never been forced away from their home, and everything that they used to hold so dear.

Thanks to the police department, that exact thing had happened. Instead of worrying about normal, everyday things, the boys had been forced into the position of worrying for their _lives_, and if they they would be separated from someone so vital and so important to them.

"It's too bad. I really liked Minnesota."

"Yeah," Caleb said, a small smile creeping across his face. "I liked it too. For awhile, anyway. The schools were great, and the people. But things changed, things happened."

Mainly the school had dropped the ball on them—instead of going to him directly when they had seen the bruise marks on Dean—they had gone to CPS with their concerns. Thus starting a course of events that they were still dealing with at that very moment.

"Jim died..."

"And then everything changed—it wasn't the same anymore—and things just seemed to get _harder_ and _harder_."

Caleb could recall that dark period after Jim's death as though it was yesterday. After the funeral was when the YED had made its first appearance in their home, thus propelling them to run to the safe house that Bobby had directed them to.

After that, Sam had been kidnapped.

And then Caleb had been arrested for the absolutely _ridiculous_ and _heartbreaking_ charges of abusing and neglecting them. As if he would _ever_ lay a single _finger_ on them. And then kidnapping them. Though those circumstances hadn't been born because of Jim, it was mind-boggling that so much had happened since he had died.

"I know," Sam said. "Now we're on the run."

"We are, and I'm sorry for that."

"It's not your fault," Sam said, immediately rejecting that belief that Caleb had been secretly harboring inside his heart.

"Not directly, no."

"Not in any way."

"Well...I don't know about that...but I _am_ still sorry, Sam."

"It's okay."

Getting up to stretch his legs, he suddenly had an idea. "You want me to show you how to clean out the guns?"

Sam nodded, scooting foreword eagerly on the bed. "Sure!"

Though Sam had been forced to assume many responsibilities when it came to the supernatural part of his life—mostly training and learning different ways to defend himself—he had never learned the more technical aspects of the life, and how to care for their various equipment that they carried around with them.

"Okay, watch me," Caleb said, as he took out his handgun that had been tucked behind his jeans. "You want to make sure you unload it," he explained, as he smoothly slid the clip out.

"So you don't shoot yourself in the butt," Sam said with a laugh.

"Exactly. Then you make sure that you take all these little parts apart," he said, showing Sam the proper way to dissemble the gun. "And then," he said, pulling the cleaning stuff toward him. "You start to clean the inside of it for the most part."

"Why?"

"So the shot won't go off bad. If it's a dirty gun, it can get clogged. The last thing you want to have happen, is for yourself to be in a situation where you have to defend yourself, and you can't shoot because your gun is clogged."

"Wow," Sam said, "I never knew any of this stuff before."

"It's a constant learning curve, Sammy. You learn as you go. You want to try it for a minute?"

"Yeah."

Smoothly handing him the gun, Caleb watched carefully as Sam tried to clean it out. It was important that he learn this stuff in case he was ever in a situation where he had to use it. To his surprise, the kid managed to pull it off without a hitch.

"Okay," Caleb said, once Sam had put the supplies down. "Can you show me how you put it back together?"

This time Sam was slower to respond to the task given to him. Swallowing back, not wanting to look like he didn't remember when he didn't, he looked over at Caleb.

"How do I-"

"Load the clip," Caleb instructed patiently. "Like that," he said, nodding, as he watched Sam load the gun. "And then make sure the safety is on."

"Okay."

Watching as he put the last few pieces back together, Caleb smiled. For a kid who had only _just_ started learning about most of this stuff, he had done remarkable.

"Did I do good?"

"You did excellent. Very good job."

"Thanks."

* * *

Dean was getting anxious—they had traveled most of the day on the road—before stopping for the night at a nondescript motel. Even though he was glad to rest his sore leg, it didn't ease his anxiety over not being able to see his guardian and brother.

It had been days since he had last seen either of them—and while he knew that they were as safe as they could be after the near disastrous chase with the police—it wasn't the same as actually being with them _physically_.

It was with those thoughts in mind that he gladly got up in the morning with Bobby, and checked out. It had been a restless night of sleeping on his back, which he never did, but now had to because of his leg, and wondering when the darkness would give way to the light.

Grasping his crutches firmly in both hands, he slowly made his way over to Bobby's car. It wasn't easy riding in the back, but he had plenty to distract himself with, as he plugged in his Walkman.

"We should get there by tonight," Bobby said, looking back at him as he pulled out of the parking lot of the motel. They had left early enough so that most of the employees had been off duty, only one had remained at the desk when they had signed out.

"Awesome," Dean said, allowing a small smile to grace his features.

It would be nice to have something positive to look foreword to. Even though their reunion would be weighed down by the fact that they had to get back on the road, at least they would be able to travel together instead of apart.

"You excited to see them?"

"Heck yes."

"I'll bet."

"Do you know which place they're staying at?" Dean asked, as he lowered the volume on his music player.

"Yeah, Caleb told me the last time we talked."

"Good."

* * *

Sam was getting antsy—Bobby had called earlier that afternoon and had told Caleb that they were getting closer. That had been hours ago, and while Sam knew that they were getting there as quickly as they could, it still didn't erase his absolute euphoria over seeing his brother again.

"They'll be here in a second," Caleb said, watching Sam pace nervously across the length of the small room they had for themselves.

"How do you know?" Sam asked, pausing momentarily in his tracks to look over at Caleb.

"I just talked to Bobby a few minutes ago. He had to stop and refuel."

"But they're here in _this_ town?"

"Yeah."

Sam nodded, trying to calm himself down as he threw himself into the one chair that the motel had provided for the dining room table. There had never been a time that he had been separated from his brother, except for when he had been kidnapped.

This time apart, while he knew it had been necessary, had still been hard for him to adjust to. Even though Dean annoyed the crap out of him sometimes, it still didn't mean that he didn't miss having him around.

"It will be weird having Dean not be able to move around much with his leg."

"I know," Caleb said, "he'll have to move around with the crutches."

"He'll probably be weird and knock me around."

"I wouldn't put it past him," Caleb said, shaking his head in amusement. "I think they're here."

A glowing pair of headlights had caught his attention. Flipping himself off the bed that he had previously been enjoying rest on, he moved the curtains aside and looked outside.

"Is it them?" Sam asked, staying back like he had been taught.

"Yeah," Caleb said, grinning.

"Yes!"

He had waited so long to be reunited with his brother—and now that it was finally there—he had no idea what to do with himself.

It only took a few seconds for Bobby and Dean to reach them. Caleb was waiting by the door, and pulled it open when he heard their combined footsteps approach.

"I thought you guys would _never_ get here," Caleb said, as he gave Dean a big hug.

"I thought the same thing," Bobby grumbled. "Damn idjits out on the roads."

"Traffic jams?"

"Hell yes," Bobby said, rolling his eyes. "And fools who didn't know a green from a red."

"How are you doing, kiddo?" Caleb asked, turning his attention to Dean.

"Good," Dean said, smiling weakly. "Tired, but okay."

"Well, that accounts for a _lot_, believe me."

"What happened with the cops?" Dean asked.

"I'll tell you about it later, okay?"

Dean nodded, trying to look foreword to the late night talks that he and Caleb sometimes had with each other. "Hey, Sammy."

"What do you want?" Sam said, trying to act tough in front of his brother.

"Not much. Just world peace, that sort of thing," Dean said teasingly.

"You have high goals," Sam remarked.

"Indeed," Dean replied, as he carefully threw an arm around his brother's shoulder, pulling him close. "But I _guess_ I missed you, bro."

"Missed you, too."


	27. Chapter 27

This felt _right_—being back with his family as a whole—not apart or divided. They had gone through too much to be separated, and Dean fully realized that as he slowly walked across the room on his crutches. At least being in a motel afforded them a smaller space, especially for Dean, who had to get used to walking around on crutches for the next five weeks.

Sighing impatiently when he couldn't reach his destination as quickly as he wanted to, he gave up and sat down on the bed, palming his face tiredly. It had been a wild day of nonstop driving and worrying. Not for himself, but for Caleb and his brother.

Hearing that the cops had almost arrested Caleb again, had driven a wedge of fear in his heart that he hadn't been able to fully shake until he had seen him for his own two eyes, and knew that he and Sam were both safe for the time being.

It was weird—living life on the run—and while he knew that it wouldn't be anything close to what he had in Minnesota, it was still different. He could remember making those sorts of trips with his father back when he was alive, but when he had died and he had settled into a new kind of routine with the guys, he assumed that it would go away, that they wouldn't have to run because they would be _safe_.

Unfortunately, things had changed. It wasn't a matter of choice or revenge, like John had made it out to be, it was a matter of necessity. If they stayed stationary in one place, they ran the almost certain risk of being found by the police.

Either Bobby would be allowed to retain his original custody of them—which they all knew was unlikely—or they would be taken into the system. Maybe even separated from his brother, if the foster care system saw fit to do that. Either way though, they would lose their family.

Sighing deeply, he reached over for his water bottle and took a refreshing gulp from it. It did little to ease the burning in his soul, but it went a _long_ way in helping the scratching in his throat. Putting it back once he had gotten his fill, he looked around at the scene in front of him.

Bobby and Sam were debating over whether or not Sam could be allowed to wear his day clothes to bed so they would be better prepared to leave in the morning, or allow him to wear the pajamas like Bobby wanted him to.

And Caleb was in the shower. Dean couldn't wait for him to get out so they would have a better chance of talking later. He wanted to know _everything_ he had missed while he had been laid up in the hospital, and that included what had happened with the police.

"You doing okay?" Bobby asked, looking up and over at Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said with a nod, as he laid back on the bed.

"You need help with your leg?"

"No, I got it," Dean replied, as he carefully positioned his leg so that it was resting on top of a pillow like his doctor had suggested he do.

"Alright," Bobby said, looking at him uneasily, as though he _knew_ he needed help, but wasn't sure what to do about it, either. "Just holler if you need anything."

"We're right in the same room, Bobby."

"That doesn't mean anything, idjit."

Dean rolled his eyes, playfully sticking his tongue out, before slowly lying back down. Trying to get comfortable when he was so limited in his movements, wasn't easy. Before, he would often roll around on the bed for a few minutes until he had achieved his desired comfort position, but now he had no choice about what position he had to lay in.

"Are we going to share a bed?" Sam asked, looking over at Dean.

It was something they normally did on trips—especially recently in motel rooms—but he didn't know if it would be different or not with the addition of Dean's injury.

"Dean?" Bobby said, deciding to ask him what _his_ view on that was. If he preferred sleeping alone because of his leg, Bobby was sure that they would be able to figure something else out for Sam.

"It's fine," Dean said with a shrug, as he caught sight of his brother's expectant face, clearly wanting to be closer to him when they had been apart for so long.

"Thanks!" Sam said.

"Yup."

"Okay, Sam," Bobby said. "You have to be careful when you're next to him, okay? You can't bump his leg or do anything to hurt it."

"But what if it's an accident?"

"Well, those can't be avoided sometimes, but just make sure that you're being _very_ careful."

"I will. Promise."

"Good boy."

"What time are we leaving in the morning?" Dean asked, as Caleb came out of the bathroom.

"Early," Caleb said, hearing what he had asked Bobby. "We have to make sure that we're on the road a little after sunup."

"Okay. Then where?"

"Bobby and I were talking about possibly staying at the safe house. The cops don't know where it is, and it's concealed enough on the road so regular people won't know _what_ or _where_ it is."

"Yeah, but if someone sees us in _town_," Dean pointed out. "Then what? We have to have food and water, and we can't get that crap without going into town and going to the store."

The silence that fell between the two adults in the room, made Dean know that they were considering his argument. He would have loved to have gone back to the safe house. It was enshrouded in secrecy and protection. It had walls that were built specifically to keep a demon out, and had devils traps in every room, plus the all too important salt bags to keep out the odd demon or spirit.

But the sense of self-preservation that they had had to adopt since going on the run, was more important. They could easily mimic those protective wards and sigils on an abandoned home, but it would be harder to do that on a motel or _hotel_ wall, but Dean felt uneasy about returning to the safe house when so much could go wrong.

"I know," Caleb said, sighing as he pinched the bridge between his nose and eyes. "We just want to be sure that we don't run into any problems with being reported by the staff here."

That had been a serious concern when all this had started. The police told him that they had been tracking him for awhile, and he knew that was because someone had ratted him out.

"Then we'll have to find someplace abandoned to crash at for awhile," Bobby said, looking over at Caleb who nodded.

It would be their only recourse. It would be too hard for Dean to constantly have to put up with traveling while his leg was injured the way it was. Even though they preferred the safety of moving around to put the cops off them, they also knew that they had to be realistic.

Hunters before had found places to crash at—and while their circumstances were different than all the others—they knew they had to think of something that would be somewhat permanent, at least for the next five to six weeks while Dean healed.

"But where?" Dean asked. "In case you guys haven't noticed, our luck has been on the horrible side lately, and odds are they'll find us there too."

"We can't worry about that," Caleb said. "We have to think about what's best for you guys right now, and traveling in a car for hours with your leg the way it is, isn't entirely in line with you healing up as fast as you can."

Once the break healed, Caleb would then be able to begin working with him on ways to strengthen his leg. Until then, they had to be careful with how much they put his body through. Already, it had been put through the wringer both emotionally and physically.

"When can you start working with me?"

"After the cast comes off. We have to be patient because we don't want to end up delaying your progress."

"He has to be on those crutches constantly until the cast comes off," Bobby said, looking over at Caleb. "I'm just saying, because he's tried to get out of using them before."

"I have not-"

"Alright," Caleb interjected. "I'll make sure he uses them."

"Yeah," Sam said, sticking his tongue out at him. "Or you'll fall on your a-"

"_Sam_," Caleb warned. "Language."

"Sorry," Sam said with an annoyed huff. "Or you'll fall on your _butt_."

"Whatever," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "I'll use them. It doesn't mean I have to be thrilled about it."

"Just as long as you do," Caleb said, looking at him pointedly. "The last thing you need is to end up back at the ER because you re-injured your leg."

"I _know_, Caleb."

It had been an exhausting day, and all he wanted was to curl up and go to sleep. Especially if they had to get up early like Caleb said they would have to, and go on the move again. Wincing slightly when Sam joined him in the bed, he tried to hide it from his face as Sam climbed underneath the covers.

"I'm tired," Sam said with an exaggerated yawn.

"Then go to sleep," Dean suggested tiredly, as he tried to keep his eyes open.

"Fine."

* * *

Dean had underestimated how exhausted he _really_ was. Instead of staying awake to talk with Caleb like he wanted to, he had ended up falling asleep almost as soon as the lights went out. It was something he had been sorely lacking in the last few days, and had no idea how desperately he had needed to reclaim it as his own.

When the first hints of morning started showing through the curtained window, he sighed. It had been a nice rest that had ended far too early for his liking. Turning his head to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand table, he saw that it was nearly seven.

Pretty soon they would have to pack up and leave for their next destination. Hopefully it would be a more permanent one—and one that could afford them some protection from not only the police, but the supernatural entities that sought to destroy them.

In his mind, there was nowhere _truly_ safe. Not really. Not when the police, somehow, were capable of peering through even the tiniest of cracks and finding them. It was a nuisance, it was annoying, but it was something that was a part of their reality now.

"Morning," Caleb said, looking over at him from the other bed. "Sleep good?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess. Better than sleeping in the hospital, that's for sure."

"Yeah," Caleb said, with a small smile. "I bet it is."

Dean nodded, as he slowly sat up. He was brought back to reality by the jarring pain in his leg. It was still hard to remember that he had to be careful with how he moved his leg because of the bad break in it.

All part of his new reality that he had to get used to for another five weeks. Then the cast would be able to come off, and he would begin the arduous process of regaining strength in it.

"When are we leaving?" Dean asked.

"As soon as everyone's up and around," Caleb replied, looking pointedly at Dean's other side where Sam was still sleeping, and then at the foldout couch where Bobby had camped out.

"Any idea where?"

"Not really, no. Somewhere safe."

"Is that even realistic anymore?" Dean asked, shaking his head.

"It may not be, but we're going to keep looking until we find the perfect place to settle down at."

Caleb had been looking at a list of houses that were either condemned by the county, or in foreclosure. Those would be the types of houses that would either be abandoned for the long haul, or for long enough that they would be able to think of something more permanent.

"Okay," Dean said, shrugging. "I wish we could go back, like Sam wanted to."

"It's not safe," Caleb said. "The only place I would even _consider_ going back to is the safe house. But like you said, they could find us there, too."

"At least we'd be protected," Dean said quietly.

Even though the idea of going back to Sioux Falls, or anywhere near their old life, was scary for the thirteen-year-old, he couldn't deny the safety of such a move when it concerned the supernatural. The safe house was guarded against most kinds of evil, and would prove to be a valuable tool for them.

"Against the supernatural. I'm not so sure about the _other_ aspect."

"The humans?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah. So how's your leg feel?"

"Good. It's just," Dean said with a small laugh. "It's hard to remember that I can't move it. This morning when I woke up, I tried it, and it hurt like a bi-"

"Dean."

"Sorry. It hurt like heck."

"You have to be careful," Caleb said, as he flipped himself off his bed and walked over to where he had stashed his clothes. "You can't re-injure it," he added, as he changed into an AC/DC shirt.

"Awesome shirt."

"I know, right?" Caleb said with a grin.

" About my leg,I know, believe me. So what happened the other day with the cops?"

It was something that had haunted Dean since he had first found out about it. The police had come extremely close to arresting Caleb, and then he had gotten away. It had been a miracle, and _certainly_ one that Dean hadn't argued, but he was curious as to what exactly had happened.

"We were driving on the interstate, and they pulled us over. I don't think they knew who I was when they first did it, but when they saw my face, I knew it was over. Anyway," Caleb said, "he told me to step out, and I did."

"And then what?" Dean asked, as he reached for his water bottle.

"Then we talked briefly, and then he told me I was under arrest. I acted like I was going to let him do it, and then when he started cuffing my other hand, I turned around and punched him."

"Wow. So then you guys got in a chase?" Dean asked, looking over at his little brother who was still out for the count.

"A brief one," Caleb nodded. "We lost him when we turned off the exit."

"Oh, right. Awesome."

"It was exciting, that was for sure."

* * *

It was hard getting back on the road again. Especially when Dean had so little time to rest his leg properly before leaving the relative security of the motel room. Not able to conceal a yawn, he leaned against Caleb's car, as he listened to he and Bobby discuss strategy concerning where they would go, and who would travel with who since they had two vehicles.

"Dean," Caleb said, "you can ride with me if you want to. Same goes for Sam. Only you," he added, looking at Sam, "will have to take the front so he can rest his leg."

"Yeah," Sam said, "and then I can play _my_ music for a change."

"Ha. I doubt it," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"It's true," Sam said innocently. "Right, Caleb?"

"I said whoever was in the driver's seat."

"Oh."

"And Caleb and I like the same stuff," Dean said, "so there."

"If you go with us," Caleb said, "we'll stop and get you that strawberry shake you like."

"Okay," Sam said, as he started moving toward the front seat of Caleb's car.

"He can be bought," Caleb said with a grin, as he looked at Bobby.

"Where are we headed?" Bobby asked, as he twirled his car keys around his finger.

"Uh, you know what, let's look around here deeper in the state for an _actual_ place. If, by some horrible stroke of luck, we end up running into the cops again, let's just call it a day and go back to the safe house."

"Alright."


	28. Chapter 28

Boredom.

Repetition.

Fear.

Uncertainty.

Nervousness.

It was something that Dean had long ago grown used to—the endless amount of worrying and obsessing that went along with being on the run. It had been something he had gotten used to when he and his father had been on the run in the early days of his father's hunting career, and it was something he was slowly learning to cope with _now_, when he and his family had to do it all over again.

Dean guessed that he had been naïve enough to believe that it would end with his father—that they wouldn't have to ever resort to such drastic measures again—that they could build a life for themselves in Minnesota and have it be alright for a change.

But nothing ever stayed that way—nothing ever stayed alright for _too_ long—that would go against the very makeup of their family and the life that had chosen _them_—not the other way around. Once the police had set their sights on his family, it was all over.

For their very survival they had to run—to avoid the police—to avoid further presecution by people who refused to understand them and what they did for each other and for the people who _needed_ them. It was a sad fact for hunters, who almost never got the opportunity to live normally like they probably wanted to, but it was a life that Dean never thought would touch him again.

He had been wrong.

With a broken leg and a shattered spirit that had been born out of the endless worrying that he had done over his brother and family—they had piled into their respective cars and had started their new journey.

Caleb and Bobby hoped that they would be able to stop somewhere in the state and rest up for a bit—preferably an abandoned or foreclosed home where the occupants would be unlikely to return for some time, but even _that_ was fraught full of nightmares.

If the police saw them—or even got an _inkling_ that they were hiding out someplace—they would spring faster than they could even think up the words. It was sad, that they had to live life constantly on the edge, just to escape a force that had no idea what they were even talking about.

It was something that didn't worry Dean for _himself_—it was something he worried about for his brother. Sam was an innocent victim in all of this. It was a life that he had never asked for, had never wanted, and yet it had chosen him in much the same way that it had forced itself on his brother and guardians.

After resting up briefly in the motel room that they had all met up in again, they had to get back on the road first thing. It wasn't anything that bothered Dean anymore, not when he had grown used to it from years ago, but it still was an inconvenience because of his injured, broken leg. Sighing deeply, his hand resting underneath his palm, he looked out at the gray, cloudy sky. It seemed that the weather was matching his mood perfectly, as he looked over at his little brother.

Sam was oblivious to his brother's concerns as he happily slurped on the shake that Caleb had promised him before they had left. Smiling in spite of himself, he tried to busy himself with the reading material he had brought along, but even _that_ failed to bring about any lasting peace as he looked in the front seat.

Bobby was driving behind them with his car—while he and Caleb and Sam traveled in Caleb's. It was an arrangement that worked—and while Dean would have loved for them to have gone together in the same car, that hadn't been entirely feasible with how many of them there was.

Glancing at the clock, he groaned. It was nearly five in the afternoon. They had been driving nonstop for almost the entire day with only minor stops in between to use the bathroom, and grab something to eat to satisfy their growling stomachs.

Now, Dean was tired. It would be difficult to find a comfortable position to sleep in, when his options were so limited when it concerned his leg. Trying not to think about the fact that he would have to wait an entire five weeks to get his cast off, he scooted down as far as he could go, and tried to close his eyes and let the sound of the rushing traffic reach his ears.

When the car accidentally traveled over a rough patch of highway, he couldn't control the hiss of pain that escaped from between his clenched teeth. Any little jolt or bump was enough to make his leg throb with the pain that it was in, that was only masked when it was completely stationary and free of the movement that it had now been forced into.

"Are you okay, bud?" Caleb asked from the driver's seat.

No doubt he had heard the sound Dean had made—and was wondering if he was alright or not. So far, he had been excellent in avoiding bumps or cracks in the road, and Dean could hardly blame him for making one mishap.

"Yeah, it's good," Dean replied, scrubbing a hand over his face. "When are we going to be there?"

They had been traveling so long that he had almost lost track of time. Wherever they went, it would never be a hundred percent safe. Any motel or hotel establishment that they walked into, would probably call the cops, and whatever home they crashed at, would be stormed by the police or the original owners.

The weight of that decision wasn't any easy thing to handle—especially for the adults who were the ones in charge of making sure the boys stayed safe through all this—even if the outcome was less than desirable.

"Pretty soon—Bobby looked around and found a house we could stay at for awhile."

"What kind of house?"

"One that was supposed to be foreclosed on. We'll have a few days probably, before we have to leave."

"Okay."

It wasn't the perfect solution—not when he was brutally reminded of the fact that they couldn't stay forever—and people would be coming back to take care of it, but at least they had a temporary fix to a problem that was rapidly growing bigger and bigger by the second.

"Can I have my own room?" Sam asked from the front seat.

"We'll see, kiddo."

"I miss my old room."

"I bet you do."

It had been hard for Sam to adjust to his new life—especially the lack of privacy that came with sharing a single room in a motel with every member of his family. So far, he had done great, and Dean and Caleb could hardly blame him for wanting a slice of the freedom that he had used to have.

"I just want to know if there's gonna be pie there," Dean said with a rare grin.

"We'll have to see," Caleb said, shaking his head in amusement at the two boys.

"Or you can go get some," Dean added with a raised eyebrow.

"Maybe."

* * *

It was just past dark when Bobby and Caleb met each other at the abandoned house that would serve as their temporary base of operations. At least until whoever owned the home, or whoever was selling it, came back for it.

Stepping out into the chilly, early evening air, Dean carefully stood on his crutches as he looked at the house that loomed before him. It was older, that much was obvious, and it had none of the charm or taste that their old home in Minnesota had, but it had four walls and a solid foundation to grant them the shelter that they needed.

Carefully walking up the creaky steps of the Spanish-style home, Dean stood aside to let Caleb and Bobby enter first. It was a ritual that they followed whenever they went someplace new. Whether it was at a motel or hotel room, or a new place like this one.

The guys would search out the place while the kids stayed back in case any danger was lurking around that they couldn't see. Swallowing back the sudden urge of nervousness that he got, Dean and Sam watched as Caleb and Bobby carefully searched out the immense bottom floor of the home.

It was spacious in size and only increased the workload of the guys as they peered into every nook and cranny of the place, trying to unearth any unseen dangers that would be waiting to spring out and attack them.

Once they had thoroughly searched out the downstairs, they began moving up to the upstairs. Taking that as their cue that they could move around a little bit more, Dean and Sam moved into the family room where they dumped their array of things on one of the sofas, and lounged on the other. It was nice to lay his body back against something that wasn't the rough interior of a car. Inhaling deeply, he looked over at his brother.

Sam had made himself at home on the loveseat in the room, and had kicked off his shoes. It was a refreshing sight to see. Instead of the anxiousness that had made itself present in his little brother, he now only saw the carefree kid that he had known his entire life.

"What do you think?" Dean asked, looking over at his little brother, as he carefully propped his leg up on a few pillows.

"I like it," Sam said, nodding his head.

"It's much better than some stupid motel room, right?"

"Yeah. Can we stay here?" Sam asked, as he propped himself up on his elbows.

"For now. Not permanently, though."

"Why not?"

"Someone will come back for this place," Dean said with a shrug. "We don't own it."

It would have been nice to set down roots in someplace new—someplace like Arkansas—where nobody really knew them, where people mostly minded their own business. It was something that Dean had entertained, but had never seriously thought about.

Even in a seemingly innocent town like this, people talked, and talking could turn into the police being called. It was no secret to anyone else that Caleb had escaped from prison, that was why the police had been called in Iowa in the first place.

And why he had engaged in a car chase with the cop. It was a new facet of their life that they would have no choice but to deal with from now on.

"Oh. Well, it would have been nice."

"I know. We could go back to school, and actually live like normal kids again."

School had never held his interest—but it would have been nice for Sam to experience that again—especially with how many friends he had, and the teachers that seemed to think he was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

"That would be nice."

"I know-"

"Okay," Bobby said, coming down into the room with Caleb. "The top floor is clear."

"Okay," Dean said. "So we're going to stay here for awhile?"

"What do you guys think about that plan?" Caleb asked, as he took one of the available chairs in the room.

"I want to," Dean said, shrugging. "If it's safe."

"It is. For now."

And that was what mattered right then. For now, they were safe. Even though they couldn't stay forever, at least they were being afforded some shelter for the time being.


	29. Chapter 29

The upstairs was spacious—wide enough to grant them the individual privacy that they craved—and yet small enough to enable them to be close together at the same time. The master bedroom that the boys chose, despite Sam's initial argument that he wanted to be by himself, was situated right between Caleb's and Bobby's rooms, allowing them to hear everything that went on.

It was nice to have the space that they _couldn't_ have inside the motel room. As he walked across the dust-coated hardwood floor, Dean tried his hardest to take in his surroundings and appreciate the '_now_' of the moment, and not when they would have to pack up again and leave.

Instead of a typical dresser or closet that he was used to hanging his clothes up in, he found himself staring at an _actual_ armoir. He hadn't seen those except in movies and in some of his friend's houses. Grinning, he whipped the protective sheet off the front of it, and appraised it for all its beauty.

It was older—that much was obvious based on the creases and marks on it—but it was still nice. Shrugging one shoulder, he opened it and looked inside. Almost nothing was there except for a few ratty clothes that had been overlooked.

Reaching inside, he grabbed the few clothes that had been left abandoned and tore them into rags to clean around the place. It was dusty, and he knew that they couldn't necessarily survive in that environment for too long without some intervention.

Sighing, he carefully went over to the far wall. A series of miniscule names and dates lined the wall directly behind the ancient nightstand.

It was names of people along with the dates of their births and deaths. Trying to ignore the uneasy pounding of his heart, he turned away from the wall, trying to imagine what that wall could mean. If people had _really_ died in that room, or if it was some twisted imagining of the former residents.

Ignoring the dull stabbing pain in his leg that indicated he had been up for too long, he walked across the room toward the exit, intent on going back downstairs to rejoin his family, when the door suddenly slammed in his face, barring his intended path.

"What the hell?" he muttered, his brows furrowing in confusion, as he pulled back on the resistant doorknob. "Caleb! Bobby!"

If they could hear him, they would run up the stairs and break the door down. It wasn't anything that he had _ever_ experienced before except for when he had been dealing with a violent spirit or poltergeist. Feeling beads of sweat pour down his face, he stood back from the door when he could hear hurried footsteps on the other side.

When the doorknob turned, this time without incident, it only increased his confusion as Sam stared at him, his eyebrows raised in question. It was apparent that whatever had effected Dean, had had no effect whatsoever on his curious little brother.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, looking at him as though he had gone nuts.

"Yeah—Yeah I'm good. The door must have caught or something."

"I was able to open it fine," Sam said with a shrug.

"Well, good for you," Dean said teasingly, deciding to forget what had happened as he playfully leaned over and punched his brother in the shoulder. "_Of course_ it would work for you."

"Because I'm awesome and all that," Sam said with a laugh, as he punched Dean back. "What happened, though?" he asked seriously, as they carefully started back down the stairs.

"The door just," Dean replied with a shrug. "Slammed in my face. I tried pulling on the handle, and it didn't work. I called Bobby and Caleb, by the way, where are they?"

It had only just dawned on him that the adults that he had called, hadn't come when he had called them. Flipping himself down on the sofa, he watched as Sam sank down into the opposite chair. It was nice to have the space to choose their own seating, as opposed to the stuffiness of the motel room.

"They're outside getting some wood for a fire," Sam replied.

"Okay."

Shivering slightly, he wrapped his arms around each other as he looked over at Sam. The kid adapted so easily. It was a wonder for Dean, who was struggling with the constant, revolving change that his life had recently taken.

"Oh. What about food?"

"Bobby said something about getting some takeout."

"Okay."

"What were you doing upstairs, anyway?"

Part of the condition of Dean's release is that he not go up stairs without supervision from his guardians. It was something that irritated him to no end, and that was why he had rebelled against that stupid order.

"Because."

"Because _why_?" Sam pressed, clearly not letting the issue go.

"Because I _felt_ like it. I didn't want to have to rely on them to help me when I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."

It was a stupid reason—especially when he could have fallen—but he had been fed up with all the imposed rules that he had to live by because of the leg, and he wanted to prove that he could handle it on his own.

"What if you had fallen?"

"Then I would have ended up back in the hospital," Dean said quietly, looking down at his clasped hands.

"And we could have been separated again," Sam pointed out.

"I _know_. I'm sorry, _okay_?"

It had been a spur of the moment decision, and one that he clearly hadn't thought through at the time. When the back door opened, and the guys walked back in, he sighed. If Sam didn't blab to them what he had seen, it would be a miracle.

"What are you idjits doing?" Bobby asked, as he helped Caleb deposit the firewood in the fireplace.

"Nothing," Dean said. "Just watching you two."

"How nice," Caleb said sarcastically, but with none of the bite that Bobby's tone would have normally held. "Sam, come and give me a hand."

"Sure."

Watching as Sam helped Caleb and Bobby position the firewood, Dean thought back to the strange wall that he had seen. It had been a list of epitaphs that had signaled the dates and deaths of the people that had clearly lived there, and had probably died there.

"What are you thinking about?" Bobby asked, catching the pensive look on Dean's face.

"Not much."

He knew he would be in trouble if he revealed that he had ventured upstairs by himself—but he wasn't sure how else he was supposed to warn them about the potential spirit problem without ratting himself out.

"What's going on?" Caleb asked, turning around and catching the look on Dean's face.

"If I tell you," Dean said, grinning, even though it wasn't funny, "you guys will be mad."

"What do you mean?" Caleb asked, trading looks with Bobby.

"I went upstairs to look around, and I went into this bedroom and there was this really strange wall full of these names and stuff like that, and when I tried to get back out, the door caught."

"What do you mean the door caught?" Caleb asked, trading startled looks with Bobby.

"I tried to open it, and it wouldn't work. Sam heard me," Dean said, forcing himself to look Caleb in the face, knowing he would be less likely to get upset than Bobby would be. "And he was able to open it."

"You're okay?" Bobby asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. More or less."

"And you didn't see an _actual _spirit problem?"

"No."

"Why were you upstairs by yourself?" Bobby asked, catching onto the earlier part of Dean's story, which had included him venturing upstairs by himself.

"I don't know. It was stupid."

"More than stupid," Caleb replied. "Dean, listen to me," he said, lowering his voice. It was something he did when he was trying to make a point. It worked better than yelling, and the boys knew to listen up when took on that phone. "Do not _ever _do that again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Caleb said, smiling slightly to show it was okay. "I just don't want you falling on your ass again."

"That would be fun," Sam said, laughing once.

"For you, maybe," Dean said.

* * *

After Bobby had gotten back with their Chinese takeout, and they had filled their stomachs to the brim with food and a good time, it was time to go upstairs and take showers and complete the nightly rituals that both boys had become familiar with.

Only this time it would be much different. Dean hated to rely on others for help—especially when doing something rudimentary like climbing up the stairs. It was something that was deeply annoying to him, and he hated it.

Begrudgingly he allowed Caleb to assist him up the stairs. It was stupid—but it was something that the doctors had drilled into _both_ their heads that he needed to do until he was stronger in his leg.

"Don't fight me, Dean," Caleb warned, as his hand gripped Dean's upper arm.

"I hate this," Dean said, as he tried to pull away from Caleb.

"I'm sure you do," Caleb replied, as he deflected Dean's attempts to get away from him, "but we don't want you falling back on your ass."

"Really? Because I think that would be _great_," Dean said bitingly.

Caleb chose to ignore that comment as they finally reached the second floor landing. He could understand Dean's frustration, and tried his hardest not to call him out on it. Wiping a hand over his face, he looked over at Dean.

"Are you taking a shower first? Or is Sam?"

Even though the boys lived in a world that was often unpredictable and dangerous, the same rules that were at home, still applied everywhere else. That included regular times when the boys had to take showers, and go to bed at a reasonable hour.

"Sam is. We drew straws."

"He got the short one, huh?" Caleb said with a grin.

"Yep."

It was a trick that the guys often allowed the boys to do when they were debating over who would do something first. It was something that deflected some arguments, and started others.

"Alright," Caleb said, looking over at Sam, who had come up the stairs. "Sam, you go first in the shower."

"Why?" Sam asked, looking back and forth between his brother and guardian.

"Because it's your turn," Caleb said. "You drew the short end of the stick."

"I know, but-"

"But _nothing_," Caleb said firmly. "You have to take a shower, Sam."

"I'm tired, though," Sam pouted.

"I know you are. That's why you need to get it done."

"I don't want to-"

"Dude," Dean said, "you haven't had a bath in, like, three days."

"Shut up, Dean!"

"Sam," Caleb said, lowering his voice. Normally, when Sam was in a reasoning mood, he would listen when Caleb did that. "You need to go take a shower right _now_."

"I don't understand why."

"You don't _have_ to understand, Sam. Me, as the authority figure, can tell you to do something without giving you a reason. It sucks, I know, but that's the way it goes."

"Can't I do it after Dean?"

"No. You made a deal with him."

"But-"

"Sam, if you're not moving toward that bathroom on the count of three, you're going to be grounded in your room the rest of the night."

Sam didn't answer—merely gave Caleb his best approximation of a death glare—before stomping off toward the bathroom. The sound of the slamming door reached their ears, before the sound of running water.

"That was fun," Dean commented, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

"It was indeed," Caleb replied smoothly. "While he's doing that, we need to change the cast on your leg."

"Why?" Dean asked quietly, automatically rejecting the idea of seeing his injury up close and personal. It was something that was too upsetting, seeing the physical evidence of his break.

"Because the doctor wanted to make sure that you weren't developing any sores or blisters. That kind of thing. We only need to do it once a week, bud."

"I just don't like seeing it, you know?"

"I do," Caleb nodded. "But we can't let this get any worse, Dean. You've been doing very well lately."

"Fine," Dean said, giving himself over to the inevitable, even though he dreaded it. "Do whatever the hell you need to do."

He wasn't mad at Caleb—not really—it wasn't his fault that the doctor wanted him to check his leg. It was just something that he didn't want to have to face.

Caleb was silent after his outburst, and Dean didn't blame him. It was rare that he _ever_ got angry with him. As Dean started inching himself toward his bedroom, intent on getting the show on the road, he felt the tiniest bit guilty.

"Dean," Caleb said, after a minute. "This isn't my fault what happened to you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Sighing, he sat down on the edge of his new bed, and waited for Caleb to do whatever it was that he needed to do to make sure that his leg was fine and there weren't any additional injuries associated with the break.

"Alright," Caleb said, as he followed him into the room with the supplies that he would need to change the cast. "Are you doing okay now?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Good. Let's get this over with, then."

Dean watched carefully as Caleb's fingers worked quickly and carefully to get the cast off his leg without causing further damage. It was fascinating to watch, and Dean tried to see it that way as the cast finally came all the way off with Caleb's careful manipulations.

"So what do you look for?" Dean asked, once his leg was exposed for him to see.

"Any breakdowns in the skin," Caleb explained, as he carefully examined the leg, "any blisters or sores that need attention."

"Do you see any?"

Caleb shook his head. "No, I don't, actually. We can keep the cast off until you get out of the shower, and then we'll put it back on."

"Okay."

* * *

Once he had gotten through with his shower and Caleb had put his new cast on, Dean was grateful to climb into bed for the first long night in their new house. Not surprisingly, Sam wanted to sleep in the same room as he did.

That didn't surprise him—it was something he often did whenever they came to a new place—and it was something that Dean allowed. If it eased his brother's unease, that was all that mattered, and luckily they had two beds in the room so they wouldn't have to share one this time.

"Night, Sam."

"Night, De."

Trying to position himself as much as possible, Dean slid down further underneath the covers, turning his head to the side so his head was blanketed as much as possible by the fluffy pillows they had brought with them.

It was when he had almost managed to achieve lasting sleep, did it happen. Everything had been peaceful for hours, when it wasn't all of a sudden. The bed, which had been sturdy and strong, suddenly began shaking uncontrollably.

"What the hell!" He yelled, looking over at his brother's bed, which was completely still.

"Dean?" Sam said, sitting up blearily. "What's wrong?"

"The bed," Dean panted. "Didn't you see the bed shake?"

"Your bed?"

"Yes."

"No."

Dean swallowed thickly, looking around the room for any sign of demonic activity, but found none. This house, unlike the safe house, wasn't protected against evil. It had none of the wards or sigils that had made Dean feel so safe.

"It was shaking," Dean said resolutely.

"Then maybe we should sleep someplace else," Sam suggested.

"I don't know. Maybe."


	30. Chapter 30

It was terrifying what had happened to him—especially since he had been the _only_ one to experience the horrifying sensation of his entire bed frame being rocked by a mysterious, unknown force. It had been something straight out of a horror movie, and even though his life was _full_ of that kind of stuff, he never thought that _he_ would be going through it.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to keep away the sweat that seemed bound and determined to make its appearance known, he tried to contemplate their best course of action. So far, what had happened to him, had _only_ happened to him. His brother, luckily, hadn't experienced the kind of thrills that he had been privy to, and he was grateful.

The question was how long that would last if they kept pressing their luck. Would something come for Sam? Especially if they foolishly ignored the warnings and kept on sleeping in the same room where he had found the epitaphs and now the bed shake?

"Dean?"

Reaching over a trembling hand, he switched on the light on the beside table. His little brother was looking at him, leaning on one elbow as he stared questioningly at him. For Sam, he was the immediate one to tell him what they _should_ or _shouldn't_ do.

Right then, Dean wished that it wasn't on him in that moment. He wished that he didn't have to make the decision to either stay in the questionable safety of the bedroom, or go seek out the adults so they could better assess the situation.

It was an impossible decision to make. Especially when he factored in the safety of his little brother. Biting down on his bottom lip, he finally pushed his covers aside, and carefully sat on the edge of his bed.

"Let's go find Caleb."

Earlier in the evening, before they had gone to bed, Caleb and Bobby had both swept the room and looked for any signs of demonic activity, but had found none. They had even gotten out their all-to-important EMF reader, and the readings had been clear.

It didn't make any sense to Dean, and that was why he knew he needed to find Bobby or Caleb to have them further assist them in making the right call. Grabbing his crutches that he always kept right next to him, he struggled to his feet.

Usually it wasn't a problem—but when he was half-asleep—it was a bit more of a challenge to coordinate himself properly so he wouldn't fall on his face. Shaking his head in irritation at his body and the limits that it was imposing on him, he watched as Sam uncertainly followed his lead.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked. "I mean, is it _safe_ to leave the room?"

It seemed that instead of the doubtfulness that had dominated his brother's attitude earlier in the day when the door slamming incident had occurred, he was choosing instead to believe him. Dean was grateful, it made it a lot easier to deal with Sam when he was in a compliant mood.

"Yeah, it should be fine."

Even though the upstairs was large, the bedrooms were all stuck fairly close together. It made it easier to navigate in the dark, and it also made it easier to quickly find the location that he wanted. Reaching out a shaking hand, he found Sam's hand, and together, the two set out for Caleb's room.

To the boys, he represented safety. It had been that way since they were five and one respectively, and that had never changed over the years. He was the only person who had been an active part of their lives for the last eight years, and their bond was never more apparent than when something like this happened, and they needed his reassurance.

Ignoring the floorboards that creaked underneath their feet as they walked, Dean sucked in a deep breath, trying to steel himself for any signs of attack, even though none presented themselves. Breathing through the rapid pounding of his heart, he reached Caleb's door and pushed it open.

All was quiet in there—for some reason whatever it was—had targeted him. It didn't make any sense, and it just made him question the natural order of the universe that thought it was appropriate to keep throwing hits at _him_, but there was nothing he could do about it now except seek help from someone that he trusted.

"Caleb," Dean whispered, reaching out a hand to shake him. "Come on, wake up."

It took Caleb only a few seconds to fully rise to consciousness—a result of spending too many years on the road—and learning to adapt to a light sleep schedule to be one step ahead of the enemy. It had served him well _then_, and it was certainly saving him _now_, as he blinked one eye open blearily to focus on the two kids in front of him.

"What's going on?" he said quietly, his voice rough from just being woken out of a sound sleep. "Is something wrong?" he asked, once that realization had hit him once the initial phases of sleep were past him.

"Something was shaking my bed," Dean said, swallowing thickly. "Just now."

"Are you alright?" Caleb asked, sitting up straighter in bed once that bombshell had been dropped on his shoulders.

"Yeah—Yeah I'm okay."

"Good. What about you, Sam?"

Sam nodded silently, obviously too freaked to say anything verbally in response to what had happened. Even though he hadn't been a victim to it himself, he still believed what his brother was going through, and it scared him.

"What are we going to do?" Dean asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress sag under the combined weight of both he and Caleb.

"I don't know yet. For right now, though, I want you guys to stay in here where I can keep you safe."

Even though he didn't know what he would do to protect them when he didn't even know _what_ or _who_ they were up against, he stood a much better chance of being able to do something if they were in the same vicinity as each other. Palming his face, he moved over in the spacious bed he had found, and let the boys climb in with him. It wasn't too much of an inconvenience, and it was something they had done right after Jim had died, and the boys had been too scared to sleep alone.

It gave Caleb peace of mind—and it gave the boys a semblance of the same thing as they tried to settle down from the intense fear that they had just experienced at the hands of whatever unknown monster had assaulted them.

"Do you think we're safe?" Dean asked, as Caleb reached over and turned the light off again.

"For right now."

"Okay."

That would have to do for right then. There was little that Caleb could do while it was the middle of the night. All he could do was offer his support to the boys, and make sure that whatever was bothering them, didn't do anything else.

"We don't have to sleep in that room anymore, do we?" Sam asked, as he snuggled up against Caleb's side.

"No. We're going to stay clear of that room until we know more of what we're dealing with."

It was typical that they had narrowly avoided one nightmare, only to landslide right into the next one. Even though the house had never been something permanent for them, it had still been a safe haven. A shelter to shield them from the police, and the evil that seemed determined to make their lives a living hell.

Having something resting inside their walls, was a danger that they hadn't quite anticipated. Especially when, whatever it was, was impervious to the EMF signals that most demons and spirits gave out. Either it was something completely unrelated to those two categories, or it was an unusually powerful spirit.

"What if it starts happening in other parts of the house?" Dean asked, stating the obvious question as he carefully anchored his leg so that it was resting comfortably under a pillow.

"We'll have to leave, then," Caleb said. "If we can't get the problem under control and we can't figure out what it is, we'll have to abandon ship."

It wasn't a solution that either of them favored—especially when they had spent the last several weeks on the run—and more recently having to deal with Dean's busted leg. Getting the chance to finally rest, and have a chance to hide from the police, was something that they had been seeking out for some time.

"Yeah," Dean said thoughtfully, not liking the idea of that, but also realizing that they may not have a choice if they couldn't get the problem under control.

"Don't worry about it," Caleb said, sensing, even in the dark, how tense Dean was at the thought of leaving the only safe haven that they had had up until that point. "We'll figure it out."

"I hope so."

* * *

Their rest was uneasy during the night—whenever something made noise in the dark—even if it was something that was completely normal, it freaked Dean out, whose senses were on high alert for anything even _slightly_ out of the ordinary now that something else had happened to him.

He was comforted by the fact that he and Sam were in the same room as Caleb now. It definitely eased his fears, and made him realize that if something were to happen again, Caleb would be front and center trying to protect them from that danger.

As a result of his restless night, when he woke the next morning, he was tired. It didn't necessarily help his predicament with his leg when his exhaustion was so bad, but he made sure that his movements were more calculated so he wouldn't run the risk of injuring the leg further.

"Morning," Caleb said sleepily, not able to control the yawn that escaped from his mouth. "How did you two knuckleheads sleep?"

"Like a princess," Dean said sarcastically, as he sat up in bed.

"That must have been awesome," Caleb said, shaking his head, as he threw his own covers aside. "Sam's still out."

"I can see that."

Sam was normally the last one to bed at night, and so he tended to sleep later in the morning as a result.

"How did you do after you came in here?" Caleb asked, as he put on his day clothes.

"No nightmares or anything."

"Good. Bobby and I do will some more digging in that room today. Maybe we'll send Bobby into town to go to the library, see if we can find anything else out."

"It makes you wonder," Dean said, as they moved down the hall. "Why all those names were on the wall."

The one thing that had really stuck out to him was the list of names on the wall that had seemed to indicate dates of life and death. It had been the sight he had seen right before the door had slammed in his face, and it was something that had stuck in his mind ever since.

"Either someone has a morbid sense of humor, or there's some really dark stuff going on here."

It was hunters 101 to know that when a person (or _persons_) died in a home, their spirits would be more likely to remain in that same place, never finding peace and never able to move on to the afterlife because of their desire to stay behind.

It was sad—and it was one thing that Caleb had taught Dean—to view those spirits as _people_. Not like the inhuman, vicious demons that they hunted. He taught him to separate the demons from the spirits, and realize that they had stories and lives, too, just like they did.

"When has our luck _ever_ given us a break like that?" Dean said, arching an eyebrow.

"Good point."

"Can I get down the stairs myself?" Dean asked, as they reached the edge of the staircase.

"What do you think?" Caleb asked knowingly.

"Totally!"

"Nice try."

"Caleb-"

"Dean, do you need me to remind you that you spent almost a week in that hospital room because of a broken leg? Do you want another one?"

"No, but-"

"Then let's go."

"Fine," Dean said, with an exaggerated huff.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the help, it was that he didn't want to constantly be reminded of the fact that he had to wait nearly a month before he could get his cast off, and begin therapy and walking again.

"It won't be too much longer," Caleb said, as though he had read Dean's mind.

"It seems like it," Dean replied, as he allowed Caleb to take his arm and help him down the stairs to the first floor landing.

"I know."

Once they reached the bottom floor landing, Dean gratefully accepted the crutches that Caleb gave to him, and set off for the kitchen. The house had been devoid of food when they had first arrived, but Bobby had made a quick stop to the grocery store, and had gotten some items to help them through.

It was a good breakfast—and while they ate—Dean tried to put what had happened the night before, out of his mind. It wouldn't help to dwell on it when there was nothing they could do to stop the problem until they examined the house more, and dug into its past.

"So how was your night last night?" Bobby asked, as he looked around at the two kids in front of him. They had been quiet so far that morning, and that was highly unusual for them.

"It was good," Dean said, not willing to dive into what had happened the night before. It was too upsetting when he realized that they might have to leave shelter again.

"Dean's bed started shaking," Sam supplied, ignoring the look that Dean threw his way for divulging that unwanted information to their guardian.

"It did _what_?" Bobby demanded, exchanging looks with Caleb.

"It started shaking while I was trying to sleep," Dean explained. "It woke me up, and he and I went into Caleb's room."

Even though crisis had been averted for the time being, it didn't mean that their luck would hold out forever, especially when they factored in their previous experiences with the supernatural.

"What do you think?" Bobby asked, looking over at Caleb for his view on what had transpired in what supposed to have been a safe house for them to crash at.

"They shouldn't stay in that room until we figure out what's causing all this. We'll go in there later with the EMF, and in the meantime, I think one of us needs to head into town to figure out more if we can."

Obviously there could only be one person who could go into town—Caleb needed to stay back in case the town officials saw him and reported him—and someone needed to stay with the kids to make sure that they stayed safe.

"Sounds good to me," Bobby said with a shrug.


	31. Chapter 31

Bobby left shortly after their early breakfast to venture into town to further explore the history of the house they had chosen as their residence, and what could possibly be causing all the strange happenings inside it. His trip, while necessary if they wanted to continue hiding out there, was also disappointing for Dean, who would have normally accompanied him on such a trip.

It was when things like _this_ popped up and he couldn't go because of his leg, that his injury annoyed him. It wasn't a big deal when he didn't have much else to do but lay around, but when there was something that he normally would have had no problem completing, it was upsetting.

He knew that Bobby was more than capable of seeking out the right places to dig around, but he would have _loved_ to have been a part of that fact-finding mission, too, and help solve the mystery of the house as quickly as possible so they wouldn't be faced with the prospect of leaving it.

Cupping his hand under his chin, he watched as Caleb attempted to clean off the strange imprints on the wall that had seemed to signify the dates and deaths of the previous owners who had lived there. It wasn't an easy job, and Dean was happy to busy his hands with something, as he gave Caleb a hand.

As his hands moved to scrub the wall of the writings, he tried to focus his energy on _that_, instead of what information Bobby was learning. If there was any sinister history on the house, Dean was sure that it would be stored in the town archives, and those would be easy to find.

It was something he hoped they would be able to solve so they wouldn't have to pack everything up again and leave. They had been on the road for too long, and he needed time to recover his leg before they attempted to live life on the lam again.

Looking back at Sam, who's feet were dangling off the bed as he watched them interestedly, he felt the same longing for his little brother. Sam deserved a break, too, and Dean hoped that this place would be the answer for them, that no one would come back for it for awhile, and they could kick their feet up and relax for a change.

"You think Bobby's going to be able to figure this out?" Dean asked, as he bent down carefully to grab some more water with his sponge.

"I hope so," Caleb said. "He's kind of on his own with this one."

"I know."

Because of his status as an escaped prisoner, he couldn't necessarily help Bobby crack the code to what was going on, and Dean was out of the question with his leg. With Sam, he was still too inexperienced to be able to provide affective help.

"The key will either be talking to the townspeople, or going to the library."

"I know."

If there was one aspect of the life that annoyed Dean, it was the endless amount of research that one had to do in order to solve a job. It was something that he would much rather put on the back burner or forget about entirely, but the guys had drilled it into his head that he needed to be as diligent about that, as he was the physical training.

"Where are we going to sleep until we figure it out?" Sam asked, kicking his feet back lazily against the base of the bed.

"Probably with me or Bobby," Caleb replied, glancing over at the nine-year-old.

"Oh. Okay."

It seemed that knowledge comforted Sam—and Caleb was grateful—as he finally finished cleaning the wall. It had been a job, and he hoped that whatever spirit was still lingering, would take the message that it wasn't wanted, and would evacuate the house while it still could.

Not that it _ever_ worked out that way for long, but he hoped that, for once, things could end up like that. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned away from the irksome wall and back to the boys. Dean had been desperate for something to occupy his mind with, and so he had allowed him to help out with the light cleaning.

"You guys ready to go back down and have some lunch or something?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Alright-"

"Look at the wall," Sam said, his intelligent eyes shifting over to the wall that they had just abandoned.

"_What_?"

Turning back toward it, Caleb could see what he was talking about. Bizarrely, the _same_ wall that they had _just_ scrubbed clean, had come back with the same message as before. The same writing, the same names and dates scrawled top to bottom in the same, faded ink.

"What the hell?" Dean said, looking over at Caleb's stunned face.

"I don't know," Caleb said quietly. "The EMF won't pick up anything, and it's obvious that there's _something_ here."

If he had had any doubts before, it was gone now. Nothing but something supernatural could have made that writing reappear on the wall. It was troubling, and it was something that was beginning to freak him out, as he looked back at the two boys' questioning faces.

"Well," Sam said hesitantly, as though he was afraid of voicing his theory. "What if you're looking in the wrong place?"

"What do you mean?" Caleb asked, turning to consider what he had to say.

"Maybe it's something on the floor or under the floorboards."

It was something that Caleb hadn't thought about before—and that showed clear on his face as he shrugged, before grabbing his EMF reader again, and aimed it at the dust-coated floor.

The device whirred for a few seconds, signaling an invalid read, before suddenly emitting a shrieking sound that indicated it had found evidence of spirit activity. Grinning in astonishment, Caleb turned back to Sam, completely in awe of the kid in front of him.

Even though Sam was far from being an idiot, he had never had the hands on experience that his brother had, and for him to suggest aiming it at something _other_ than the wall, had been a genius suggestion that had gotten them at least _part_ of their answer.

"Give me a high-five, dude!" Caleb said, reaching over to smack Sam's hand. "That was awesome!"

"Thanks," Sam said, glowing with the pride that he felt in helping his family solve part of the intrigue surrounding the house. "Now what do we do?"

"When Bobby gets back, we'll probably have to rip the floorboards up to see what's going on," Caleb said, with a shrug. "Maybe we'll be able to unearth some skeletons or something."

"Awesome," Dean said, reaching over to punch Sam in the shoulder. "Great job, dude."

"Thanks, De."

"Don't let it get to your head."

* * *

Now that they had an _actual_ place to start digging—both literally and figuratively—it was hard to wait for Bobby to return from his own fact-finding mission. Going back downstairs, Dean tried to stave off his impatience by taking a hand at cleaning their arsenal of weapons that they always traveled with.

"You're doing good," Caleb commented, as he watched him work. "You want to try the other one? Or do you need to rest?"

"I can do it."

"Okay, if you're sure."

"I am."

"Sam," Caleb said, turning his torso around to look at the child. "You want to go out back later and shoot some targets?"

Ever since Sam had found out about the supernatural, the adults had tried to ease him into the life as slowly as they could. It wasn't easy to find out something so completely horrific, and then be expected to pick up a gun and start saving the world.

So in an effort to save him from that, they had tried to hold back on as much of it as they could while they allowed the unbelievable news to sink in. Recently, more out of force than anything else, they had started training him more.

"Sure," Sam said, shrugging. "With which gun?"

"The Glock sound good?"

"Yeah."

"Alright."

It was obvious from the look in Dean's hazel eyes that he wanted to shoot, too, but Caleb wasn't sure how much more his body could take, and also wasn't certain that he would be able to hold his own against the more powerful recoil in the round.

"I wish I could shoot," Dean remarked, voicing his thoughts.

"I know," Caleb said. "Maybe we can work with the lower action ones, and see how you do."

"Okay."

Knowing he would have to accept that answer, he carefully positioned his leg so that it was resting underneath the pillows, and tried to busy himself with the bountiful reading material that he had managed to score, but even _that_ failed to hold his interest for long, as he waited for Bobby to return from his mission.

"Anxious?" Caleb guessed, catching the look on the teen's face.

"A little bit."

"For Bobby to come back?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Can I help rip the floor up?" Sam asked, clearly chomping at the bit to prove himself more, now that he had managed to secure a way for his family to find out more about what could be prowling around their new-found home.

"You can try," Caleb said, with a shrug. "It's harder than it looks, though."

"I can do it," Sam replied confidently.

Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Someone's eager," he murmured under his breath.

"Eager to kick some ghosts' butts," Sam said, plopping down next to him, as he looked over his shoulder at what he was reading. "What are you reading?"

"None of your business," Dean said.

"What's that about?" Sam asked, pretending to buy what Dean was trying to sell.

"About an annoying little brother that wants to get his nose in his big brother's business."

"Sounds _riveting_," Caleb said, throwing Sam a grin.

"Oh, it is," Dean said, mock-seriously.

* * *

Bobby didn't return from his trip into town for awhile. By the time he did, the boys were both jumping at the bit to fill him in on what they had witnessed inside the bedroom. It wasn't even necessarily the fact that the drawings on the walls had reappeared after Caleb had washed them, it was the fact that the EMF had gone off in the direction of the floor.

"So what do you think that means?" Caleb asked, after he and the boys had finished telling Bobby everything that they had experienced inside the bedroom.

"I think it means we have to go up there, and dig up the floorboards," Bobby said, rolling his eyes as if the answer should be obvious.

"What do you think we'll find there?" Caleb asked, as he helped Dean up the stairs to the second floor where they would be conducting their search.

"Who knows. Probably remains of some kind," Bobby replied, as he grabbed some tools that would be required to break through the toughness of the wooden beams.

"That sounds lovely," Dean said sarcastically, shaking his head, as he stood back to watch Bobby begin the arduous process of breaking through the wood to expose the flooring underneath.

It was slightly horrifying to imagine what could be stored under there. If it was human remains, or if it was something else entirely. Even though they had dealt with that kind of thing for years, it was an entirely different scenario when they realized that human remains would probably be stored underneath the flooring.

When it was exposed, they stood back to appraise it. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. All that the grown-ups and the kids could see, was dirt foundation underneath all the wood. Getting down on one knee, Caleb leaned foreword to inspect it closer up.

"Look at this," he said, standing back up to show the others what he had found.

"What is it?" Sam asked, going up next to him to look at what was in his hand.

"A necklace."


	32. Chapter 32

A necklace—a seemingly innocent object that had been buried beneath the wood beams—but the possibility of it being so much _more_ was what the guys and Dean held onto, as they stared at it as it dangled in Caleb's hand.

An object like that could be a cursed one. Or it could be the object that was keeping the person (or _persons_) bound on the earth, unable to move on to the afterlife that they needed to move foreword to. Pocketing the necklace carefully, Caleb leaned foreword to dig for more remains of whatever had been causing the problems in the house.

"Do you think there's more?" Dean asked, as he hung back like Caleb gestured for him to do.

It was annoying that the grown-ups were treating him with kid gloves just because he had a broken leg. Even though he knew that was a valid reason, it still irked him that he was restrained from doing more of the physical labor because of his surgery.

"I don't know. I'm looking for _actual_ remains."

In haunted homes like that, the likely hood of the person's body being somewhere on the property, was greatly increased. It was impossible to believe that someone could have been stuffed underneath the floorboards, but it was a possibility that Caleb couldn't pass up, as one hand held his flashlight, and another hand carefully moved the debris and dirt around with the the other.

"You mean, like an actual _person_?" Sam asked, inching foreword to see what his guardian was doing.

"Yeah," Caleb said, nodding. "In houses like this, we're either dealing with a poltergeist, or we're dealing with a serious spirit infestation."

It was hard to accurately suss out what the problem was until they had more concrete proof. Finding the necklace, had been a serious indicator that they're problem was more spirit than anything else. It was a relief on one hand, because it was something that Caleb _knew_ they could solve.

On the other hand, it was also troubling. They would have to find the skeletons of the people who had died there, and burn their bones. The enormity of that task would be made even grander, if they had to dig apart the entire house to find them.

"So how are we going to find them?" Dean asked, voicing the question that had been left hanging in the air, neither one wanting to contemplate what an impossibly difficult job that would be.

"We'll start in here," Caleb said, as he ripped some more flooring up.

It was easy now that half the flooring had already been destroyed by Bobby's expert picking. Even though nothing had come to fruition during the first half of the searching, Caleb was hopeful that they would be able to find something if they dug hard enough.

"Do you think there's something else that we missed?" Dean asked, arching an eyebrow curiously as he watched Caleb commence his searching once he had pried some more beams from the floor.

"It's always possible," Caleb said, turning his head briefly to look at Dean. "That's why you have to cover _every_ square inch before you move on."

In a house like that, the answer could be hiding in a nook or a cranny. It was important to make sure all their bases were covered before they moved on to another area that could be infected.

"Sounds _boring_," Sam said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Not every part of hunting is exciting," Caleb reminded him. "And that's a fact."

"Hell yes," Dean said, shaking his head, recalling _plenty_ of times when he had been stuck in a research bind and had to keep at it until he had obtained the desired answer. It was those kinds of times that he didn't like the hunting part of his life.

It was much easier to pick up a gun and head straight into the line of fire, than it was pausing to gather the all-to-important research that was essential for solving a case _accurately_. It was one of the more frustrating aspects of the life, but one that his guardians had taught him was important.

"Like the research part?" Sam asked curiously.

"Yeah," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "It gets old after awhile."

"But it's also important," Bobby contradicted, giving him a sharp look.

"I know."

Even though it was something that he would have rather done without—he knew that it was important.

"Found something," Caleb said, halting any further conversation as he slowly stood up with his find.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"Are those-" Bobby began, a disgusted look coming across his seasoned face as he saw what was in Caleb's hand.

"Bones," Caleb finished, nodding, shaking his head. "They were buried underneath the dirt part."

"So-" Dean began, forcibly tearing his eyes away from the horrifying sight.

"So we have to hold onto these," Caleb said. "If this is all there is, then the problem should stop. If it's something that needs further investigating, we'll know about it."

Relieved that they had managed to find, what they believed to be the problem, the guys and the boys headed downstairs to do an impromptu burial service for the bones of whomever had died in that room. Even though it was that person that had caused so much havoc for their family, Dean also felt sorry for them.

Obviously those people had died by violent means. It was a relief to get rid of the problem for now, but it was also saddening to realize that someone had killed them, and had stuffed their bodies underneath the floorboards where they would rot.

"You think this will cover it?" Bobby asked.

"Only one way to find out."

* * *

"What are we doing now?"

It was after lunch, and Caleb had fulfilled his promise of taking Sam out back to the empty field behind their newly acquired home to teach him the fine art of shooting. It was an art that Sam had picked up back in Minnesota, but which had been abandoned when their lives had turned to hell.

"We're going to shoot a little bit," Caleb said. "You said you wanted to, right, Sam?"

Sam nodded, tagging alongside Caleb, eager to begin his training session. "Can Dean shoot?" he asked, looking at his brother, who was ambling along beside him.

"We'll see. I don't want to risk injuring his body further," he said, ignoring the annoyed look that Dean threw his way at his overprotective comment. It was something that was annoying to him, who wanted to be able to do something to get his mind off the crap that was going on in his life.

"Okay," Sam said, shrugging, as they stopped in front of the makeshift targets that Caleb had set out along the fence-line. "What do I do?"

"Take it with both hands," Caleb instructed calmly, as he handed Sam the handgun that he would be using. "_Always_ take it with both hands, okay?"

"Why?" Sam asked curiously, as he weighed the power of the smooth gun in his hands, as he checked to see whether it was loaded or not.

"Because your bones are still growing," Caleb explained, "and we don't want them getting compromised because we weren't careful enough."

"Oh."

Sam had never really considered the fact that his bones would be hurt if he wasn't careful enough—before, he had always been able to shoot without the worry of something like that happening. It was still something that he appreciated having knowledge of, as he made sure he was grasping it with both hands.

"It's something I had to learn," Dean said, catching the uneasy look on his brother's face.

"It's not a big deal, Sam," Caleb said, "just something to be aware of so you don't break something."

"Yeah," Dean said with a scoff, "we've had enough of that for one lifetime."

Sam nodded, swallowing back thickly. "Yeah, I know."

"Alright," Caleb said, moving to stand behind him, as he carefully took Sam's hand in his. "Ease your finger over the trigger, making sure to keep your eye firmly on the target. In this case, the cans."

"Got it," Sam said, as he narrowed his expressive eyes at the targets in front of him.

Even though his brother made it look so easy when he shot a target, it wasn't. It took a lot of concentration and power to make it go off effortlessly, and while he tried to make every shot count, sometimes it didn't always work.

Especially when he was distracted—or when he hadn't done it in awhile as was the case now—as he shifted nervously from foot to foot, trying to gather up the courage to pull it off.

"Just do it," Dean said bracingly. "You can always pull off a second shot. Just do the first one, and see where you're at."

"Okay," Sam said quietly, as he gathered the gun in his hands once again, eased his finger over the trigger, paused a second, and then pulled.

The resounding _boom _that the gun made when the trigger was released, hardly phased Sam anymore, as he watched the bullet travel toward its intended target, almost as though it was traveling in slow motion, which of course, it wasn't.

When the bullet missed the shot, Sam tried not to let the disappointment show on his face, as he loaded another clip in the gun for round two. It was hard not to get discouraged, but at the slight smile that Caleb gave him, he steeled himself for another go.

"You're doing good, Sam," Caleb said quietly, sensing how frustrated the kid was.

"I know. It's still really upsetting when I try and I can't do it."

"I've been through that before," Dean commented. "You just have to time the pulls between each round, and make sure you look close, like Caleb just said."

"But it's hard when you're actually doing it," Sam countered.

"Just try again," Caleb said. "It will be fine."

It was important for him to learn this stuff for when an emergency situation happened—especially if he or Bobby wouldn't be around to protect him or Dean from whatever was happening. It was the whole point of training, and learning how to kill the supernatural beasts that went after them.

"Okay," Sam said, nodding his head slowly, as though he wasn't quite sure of that plan. "Okay."

"Do it," Dean said, nodding his head. "If you don't get it this time, I'll kick your ass with my one good leg, and then call it good."

"Ha! You wish," Sam said, rolling his eyes, as he turned away from the distraction their banter was causing him, as he refocused his energy on making the shot.

Trying to control his breathing, he tapped the trigger with his finger, trying to ease his way into it, before finally pulling off the shot. This time, when the bullet hit the can, Sam couldn't contain the excited _whoop _that he let out upon seeing that he had made the target.

"See?" Caleb said, squeezing his shoulder. "You did great!"

"Thanks."

* * *

_Thanks, as always, for taking the time to read and review!_

_-Casey_


	33. Chapter 33

It was hard to trust the fact that the problem had been completely solved by unearthing the bones that had been found underneath the flooring in the problem bedroom. It seemed _too _easy for Dean, and that was why he was so suspicious the rest of the afternoon after the training session that Caleb had given to Sam.

It had been nice seeing his brother shoot the targets and not give up—even though he had been sorely tempted when he had lost the shot the first time. When he had loaded another round in the chamber, and had pulled off _that _shot effortlessly, it had filled his big brother with a rare sense of pride in the fact that Sam was learning the tricks of the trade when it involved hunting, and that was a relief to him.

Reluctantly, Caleb had allowed Dean to fire off a few rounds into the fence after Sam had completed his turn. It had been something that Dean had missed while he had been cooped up with his cast on, and even though he had to position his stance in a different way so that he wouldn't run the risk of falling and hurting himself again, the feeling of pulling off something so wonderful, was excellent to his pride and sense of self.

Before his injury, he had been used to _always_ having _something _to occupy his mind with. When his leg had snagged the bear trap and he had to learn a whole new way of living for a few weeks, it had been a serious shock to his brain to not have that much to do with his time but lay around and wait.

Now that most of the immediate threat had been diverted with the burning of the bones, Dean hoped that it would be the last thing they would have to worry about for awhile. At least until whoever owned the house, found them inside it and called the cops.

It was a serious possibility and one that wasn't ever far from either of their minds—but for the time being—Dean tried not to let it affect him as he popped open a can of soda.

"That was fun," Sam commented, looking over at him.

"What?" Dean asked. "The shooting?"

"Yeah. It was nice to do it. I haven't done it in awhile."

Not since before they had left Minnesota to go on the run. Before, Sam had been a fairly regular participant in the workout sessions that Caleb worked with Dean on, but ever since they had been forced to abandon their house, those sessions had been forgotten in favor of staying alive, and outrunning the enemies that wanted them.

"I know. Because we _couldn't_," Dean said, turning his head over to his brother.

"I know that," Sam said defensively. "I bet it was nice to do it with your broken leg."

"It felt different," Dean admitted, "but I handled it like a bad-ass," he said with a grin.

"Whatever," Sam said, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes.

"You think we'll be okay tonight?" Dean asked, after he had taken another satisfying gulp of his drink.

"In our room?"

Dean nodded, picking something on his nail. "Yeah. We burned the bones that Caleb found, but that doesn't mean that the _problem _is gone. Especially if there are more bones to find."

The hope was that they would be fine after burning the bones that Caleb had found, but they had no idea if more were hidden in other parts of the house, or if the problem had just been secluded to _one_ room.

"Well, the EMF didn't go off anymore. So maybe it's really gone," Sam pointed out.

"It didn't go off in _that _room," Dean reminded him. "It doesn't mean that it won't happen somewhere else."

At least they could be relatively sure that their bedroom would be secure for the night. In a world that was so chock-full of danger and uncertainty, that went a long way in guaranteeing them a peaceful nights rest.

"I know. I wonder what Bobby found out in his fact-finding mission," Sam remarked thoughtfully.

"I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything."

They hadn't had a chance to grill him on what he had managed to find out from his sojourn into town to find out more about the house, and what they had gotten themselves into. It would be a useful tool in determining whether they had more to be worried about or not.

"Hopefully _something_," Sam said quietly, as he got up to stretch his legs.

"It will be fine."

Either way, Dean knew they would be safe that night. Whether it was sleeping in their own beds, or with Caleb. It was a safe-guard that he was fortunate to have, and he recognized that fully as he stifled a yawn behind his hand.

It was getting late, and they had had a full day of searching around the house, and later on, the training session. Knowing that he would have to wait until one of the adults helped him up the stairs, he watched as Sam got ready to head up.

"Are you coming up?" Sam asked, turning back to look at his brother.

"Pretty soon."

"Okay."

Adjusting his position so that he was lying down further, he waited for Bobby or Caleb to come in and help him. He could call out to them and they would hear him, but he wasn't sure he was ready to face another night like the night before, when the terror had been right up in his face.

It had been one thing to go to bed with the knowledge that _maybe _there was something to be concerned about in the room, but it had been _quite _another to wake up with the feel of his entire bed shaking with whatever had been controlling it.

He definitely didn't want another night like that.

"Hey, kiddo," Caleb said, as he and Bobby came into the room.

"Hey," Dean said, glancing up at them. "Where were you guys?"

"In the kitchen," Bobby explained. "Cleaning up a little bit, talking about everything."

"Cool," Dean replied quietly.

He wanted to know the details of what had happened in town, but he knew that Bobby would share that when and if he was ready. In a world that was so dangerous and unpredictable, he had learned fairly quickly that he had to wait to get the answers that he wanted.

It was a challenge for the impatient part of him that longed to know everything that the grown-ups did, but it was an art that he had mostly mastered, except for when the situation was _really_ out-of-control.

"Did Sam go up to bed?" Caleb asked, once he had looked around and realized that the kid was nowhere in sight.

"Yup," Dean said. "The little brat was tired."

"He had a long day," Bobby said. "I heard he had fun shooting off those guns of yours," he added, looking at Caleb.

"Yeah, it was fun," Caleb agreed, looking over at Dean. "What did you think about shooting off the lower action one?"

"I thought it was a good way to ease back into it."

In an effort to not make him feel left out of the excitement, Caleb had given him one of his lower action guns to shoot. The recoil wasn't as harsh, and it gave him the feeling of accomplishing something good, which is what he had been aiming for.

"I thought so, too."

"How does your leg feel?" Bobby asked, directing his gaze to the heavily plastered leg in front of him.

"Good. A little stiff, but good."

"Well, you have a heavy cast on," Caleb said softly. "It probably _will _feel stiff for awhile until you get it off."

"Probably," Dean agreed.

"So are you about ready to hit the hay?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"Okay," Caleb said, smiling softly, as he patted his good leg.

"What happened when you went into town today?" Dean asked, turning his attention to the older hunter next to Caleb.

"I found out some things," Bobby said, confirming what Dean already knew to be true.

"Like, what kind of things?"

"I talked to some of the residents of the town," Bobby explained, "and they said that this house has been vacant for months because of the activity that goes on here. The people have said that, in essence, the same stuff that we experienced, they did too."

"Right," Dean said with a nod, "so like, they've been experiencing the bed shakes-"

"Worse. Some people reported seeing actual _injuries _on their body because of something that a spirit did to them."

"Wow," Dean said, shaking his head in amazement. "So what else did they say?"

"Nothing much. The rest I have to find from the town archives."

Dean nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "When are you going to do that?"

"Pretty soon—tomorrow at the earliest."

"Can I go?"

"Maybe," Bobby said, looking over at Caleb, who nodded. "I don't see why not."

"Awesome."

"They also said that years before, there were some deaths."

"In _this _house?" Dean asked, trading glances with Caleb. "When?"

"I don't know when exactly—that's why I need to go dig around some more—but there were some deaths here. I don't know the circumstances or anything surrounding it, but that's what the people out there said."

"So now we have some history to go with what _we _went through," Caleb said, connecting the dots, as he leaned foreword in his seat, massaging his hands over his face.

"Tired?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Kinda."

"Me, too."

"You want to go up now?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"Alright."

Grudgingly accepting the hand that Caleb offered him, he slowly rose to his feet, careful not to put any weight on his injured leg, as he took the crutches that Caleb offered to him. He couldn't wait for the five weeks to be up, and be able to have the chance to work his leg out in therapy.

"I can't wait for all this to be over with," Dean said, voicing his thoughts as he slowly made it up the stairs.

"I bet you can't," Caleb said. "You just have to be patient, and it will be up before you know it."

"I know."

* * *

Even though he tried to ignore the aching hollow in the pit of his stomach that was trying to warn him something was off, Dean tried to enjoy the fact that he could sleep in his room without the chance of something supernatural happening inside it.

They had scanned the entire room with the EMF reader, and it had come up blank. Bobby had put the floorboards back together, allowing him to walk across the floor steadily to reach his bed. Sam had chosen to bunk there, too, but only because his older brother had chosen to do the same.

Sighing softly, he arched his body downward as he carefully adjusted his leg on the pillow that it was under. The room had gotten colder, and while it could have been the result of living in an older house, he knew better than that, as he looked over at Sam.

He hadn't noticed it, and had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow. Shaking his head in frustration, he reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. It was more than just the house acting up, something was wrong, and he could feel it.

When he turned his hazel eyes away from the room at large for a minute and looked back, he almost fell out of his bed. The spirit of a young woman was standing at the foot of his bed. Her ghostly white skin was almost translucent as she stared at him.

"Hel-" she rasped, her hand reaching out to touch him.

"What?" he gasped, forcing himself to keep looking at her.

"Help me."


	34. Chapter 34

The woman opened her mouth again—as if to say something else—but no sounds came out as she continued to stare at him, as though _he_ was the one that held all the answers for providing her with the help that she so clearly needed. It was something that Dean had never experienced before in his entire life, as he forced himself to keep looking at this woman (or spirit. He wasn't sure which label to pin on her yet).

Her skin was a sick grayish color—her once beautiful hair falling in knots around her oval-shaped face as she came closer to the foot of his bed. Backing up even though he had no place to go, he watched as she studied him intently, as though she knew something that he _didn't_.

Her sunken eyes that had once been beautiful, looked at him with the same imploring look that he had been greeted with when she had first announced her presence. It was unnerving, especially to a kid who had only ever experienced the bad parts of the supernatural world, and not the good ones.

This woman—while clearly not alive and clearly something that needed to be sent back to whatever world she needed to go to—was also _not_ trying to hurt him like so many others had before. Instead, she seemed to want something from him, or wanted to _warn_ him of something.

Whichever one it was, he was torn about what to do. Should he call out for help? Should he stay and listen to what she was trying to tell him? It seemed that she had trouble enunciating what she was trying to say, and whether that was a factor of how she had died, he had no idea.

"He-" she began, her voice gurgling on the word as she moved around the bedpost, and came to stand beside him.

This time he was nervous, and could feel his heart pound in his ribcage. Even though she might be a "friendly" ghost, it still didn't mean that she wouldn't accidentally hurt him because of the unsolved anger and loss that she felt at her stolen life.

"What are you saying?" he whispered, feeling his voice catch in the back of his throat, as he inched back against his headboard.

"Help me," she replied firmly.

It seemed that she was only capable of saying those two short words to communicate with him. It was maddening because he didn't know what to do with the information she was giving him.

It was obvious that she wanted help—but for _what_?

"What are you saying?" he repeated desperately.

"The bad man," she said, finally speaking something _other_ than the words that she had said throughout their exchange.

"Who _is_ he?"

"The bad man," she said again, reaching out a gnarled hand, as if to grab him to make him understand how serious the situation was.

"Stay back," he whispered, swallowing back the roll of bile that rose in the back of his throat.

"Still here," she said, as her hand firmly clamped around his wrist, drawing him closer toward her.

"Still here?" he repeated blankly, as he struggled to pull out of her vice-like grasp.

"Still here. In this h-house."

It wasn't uncommon for two spirits to inhabit the same dwelling—usually the spirits were in competition with each other—or there was a more sinister reason like what seemed to be the case with these spirits.

The idea that there was a more violent one in the house, was a cause of great concern for Dean, who was debating the idea of whether or not to get up from the bed and go tell Caleb or Bobby about what this woman was saying to him.

Or if she would even let him.

So far, she had refused to let go of his wrist, so intent she was on making sure that he understood what she was trying to communicate to him. It wasn't unusual for a spirit to reach out to someone for help, but by the time someone noticed the actual haunting, it was usually past the point where the spirit would be reasonable, and not into the throes of the violence that marked them for who they had become.

"Let me go."

"He's coming back."

"Who is he?"

She never got the chance to answer his question—seeming to see something that he was incapable of—she left. Laying there, trying to reconcile what he had just seen, in his mind, he looked over at his little brother.

Sam, miraculously, had managed to sleep throughout the entire conversation. It was a miracle, and Dean was glad that he hadn't been a part of that, and hadn't seen the look of utter fear in that spirit's face as she spoke about the "bad" man.

The one who had clearly murdered her, and sentenced her to an eternity on earth that was far-removed from the peaceful afterlife that she had yet to ascend to. Swiping a hand over his face, he turned away from his little brother, and over to the alarm clock on his other side.

It was nearly six. Almost time to wake up. He was glad. At least then he wouldn't have to wait long for his family to come and get him, and he could tell them about the conversation he had with the woman, and the information she had gifted him with.

If she was right about their being a more malevolent spirit lurking in their home, the guys needed to know so they could go about the proper way of finding and disposing of whatever spirit was still out to hurt them.

It was those thoughts that kept him company until the first rays of morning sun finally broke free of their nighttime constraints, and filtered in through the window. Sighing deeply, not willing to admit that another day was fully upon him, he waited for Caleb to get up and come in.

Sam was still asleep—that wasn't surprising. The kid liked to chill out in the dark until midnight, and then he always slept in late as a result of the insomnia that inevitably followed afterword.

Sitting up straighter in bed, he scrubbed his fingers through his sore eyes as he tried to wipe away the last of the tiredness that had assaulted him the night before like a sledgehammer. It wasn't easy to live in a place that was haunted like it was, but it was their only safe haven against a world that seemed to constantly find reasons for persecuting them.

When a knock at the door brought his attention away from that train of thought, he was relieved. It didn't help to dwell on something that was completely beyond his control. It was better to let the adults handle it, and try as hard as it was, to _not_ play the hero and get himself into a worse bind than before.

"Good morning, dude," Caleb said, as he walked into the room. "Sleep okay?" he asked, as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

Dean nodded, still partially lost in thought on the spirit that had visited him during the night. She had seemed so genuine, so afraid of the man that was still haunting her long after her demise at _his_ hand. It was tragic, and it was sad, and it was something that Dean had never gone through before during the few years that he had been hunting.

"Yeah, it was good."

He wanted to mention what had happened during the night, but wasn't entirely sure how to broach the subject. It was something that had shocked him, had even scared him a little bit, and while he knew that he needed to tell them they still needed to solve the mystery, he wasn't sure _how_ to tell them exactly.

"Sam's still out for the count," Caleb remarked, turning his body around to glance at the other bed across the room. "Did he stay up too late last night?"

"I don't know. He was asleep when I went down, but I guess he woke up later or something."

"Probably. We'll let him sleep for a little bit," Caleb said, giving him a slow grin, "before we come up here and drag him out by his feet."

"Yeah," Dean said with a laugh. "He better be prepared to face the wrath."

"Oh, yes," Caleb said, shaking his head in amusement. "So, everything was okay? Are you _sure_?"

Caleb was giving him an opening to confide in him about the spirit—even if he didn't realize it at the time. Dean paused, knowing that response alone would give Caleb cause to be suspicious, as he absently rubbed his hand over his other arm.

"Is it possible that a spirit can be good?" Dean asked slowly, as he forced himself to look at Caleb to gauge his reaction to the news that he was about to share with him.

"It's possible. It really matters _who_ they were before they died, I guess. Some spirits can reach that point when they're vengeful a lot faster if they're angry, or if they have unfinished business, maybe."

"Can there be a _good_ and a _bad_ spirit?"

"I think so. I've run up against a few that were just _lost_," Caleb said, "that's all it was. They didn't know how to cross over to where they were supposed to go, and sometimes? They just didn't _want_ to."

"Why not?" Dean asked, arching an eyebrow curiously. "Wouldn't they want to find peace somewhere?"

"Not if their loved ones were still here, or if they believed them to be in danger."

"I guess that makes sense. You think," Dean said, as he stopped to gather his fractured thoughts. "You think that _Jim_ is still here?"

It had been six months since Jim had lost his life at the hands of the YED, and while the pain that they all felt at his passing, was still there, Dean had always wondered if he had chosen the other route, if he had chosen to remain behind in order to watch over them.

It was possible—especially when he factored in all the other occasions when a spirit had chosen to remain behind because of their undying connection to their family. It was something that Dean had thought about more than once, and was wondering if it could be probable.

Caleb seemed to consider his question seriously. Dean took that as an encouraging sign, as he waited for him to respond with the honest inquiry that he had.

"Jim and I talked about what would happen if one of us were to...go," Caleb said, choosing his words carefully. "And we talked about what would happen if we were given a choice to stay or go."

No one knew exactly how some spirits stayed and some went. By their best guess, they were given a choice by someone to either accept their fate and rise up, or deny it and stay back with the people they loved. Even if those that they loved, couldn't see them anymore.

"And what did he say?" Dean asked, his voice thick as he tried to hold back the tears that he felt at discussing Jim, and more importantly, his death. It was a sore spot that had never entirely healed.

"We both agreed that we wouldn't want to stay, because we wouldn't want to put our friends or family in the position of having to get rid of our spirits when we couldn't control it anymore."

"So you think that Jim-"

"I don't know for sure, but I think he chose to go on."

Dean nodded, turning his head away from Caleb, as they started walking out of the bedroom, and down the long and expansive hallway. "I just...it's so _hard_," he said, not able to control the tears that descended down his face.

"I know," Caleb said softly. "It _does_ get better, though, Dean."

"I don't know _how_," Dean contradicted, shaking his head. "I mean, it's been six months and every time I think about him, I feel like I just want to start bawling all over again, and I hate it!"

He had made great strides in overcoming the initial anger and shock that had controlled him right after the tragedy—but the _aftermath_ was something he was still struggling with.

"I know it doesn't seem like it, Dean," Caleb said, "but the pain _does_ get better eventually. It may never entirely go away, but there will be times where you'll be able to have those memories of Jim, and have it be okay and not so painful anymore."

"Just...the _way_ he died," Dean said, "that's what I can't move past. He didn't deserve to die like that," he said, as his voice broke completely.

"I know. That's why when we _finally_ kill Yellow-Eyes, we'll have more of a reason to celebrate it."

"For my Mom, _and_ for Jim."

"Exactly."

"Do you ever think," Dean said, as Caleb helped him down the steps. "That I'll be able to think about him, and not feel so crappy?"

"You've had days with us, where it's been really fun and not so crappy and in your face like it has been. The memories, I think, will always be kind of bittersweet, but there will come a time where you'll have that happy medium."

"If I tell you something, do you _promise _not to freak out?"

Not that he would, but Dean knew how protective Caleb was over he and his brother. If he knew that a spirit had paid a nighttime visit to him, he would be concerned about it.

"I promise," Caleb said, as they finally reached the bottom step, and he let go of Dean.

"I saw something last night," Dean said, as they walked toward the kitchen.

"What?"

"A spirit."

That revelation momentarily stopped Caleb in his tracks as he looked down at Dean. "What happened?"

"Nothing. It was this girl, and she was saying that we needed to help her. There's a "bad man" in the house, I guess."

"That's what she said?" Caleb asked, as he flipped on lights in the kitchen.

"Yeah," Dean replied, as he slid into an empty chair.

In some regards, it narrowed their search down. In other regards, it made it harder. Knowing that another spirit was staying with them, was definite cause for concern, and something he knew his guardians would _not_ take lightly.

"Did she try to hurt you at all?" Caleb asked, as he got out some food to make breakfast.

"No. What are you making?"

"French Toast," Caleb said distractedly, still clearly focused on what Dean had seen the night before. "Did she say what this man's name was?"

"No. She just kept saying over and over again that we needed to help her."

"Okay, but she didn't try to _hurt_ you, right?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope."

"Okay, good."

With a spirit, there was always that possibility. It was scary to know that they had not one, but two to worry about. It definitely increased Caleb's stress level, and made him want to find out more about what was causing these strange happenings, and get rid of it.

"We should find out more when we go to the library, right?" Dean said.

"Yeah."

* * *

It felt good to get out of the house—even if it was for something relatively depressing like finding out information about a deceased person in order to get rid of their remains. It was _still_ a job, and that was something that would his occupy Dean's mind for a few hours.

Even if it was something like going to the library—something he normally hated doing—it still felt good to get out in the fresh air a little bit, and help Bobby solve the case they had stumbled upon in their own home.

"Caleb mentioned that you found a spirit last night," Bobby remarked, as they walked through the different aisles of books, searching for any of the local history of the town that might explain what had been happening to them.

"Or it found _me_," Dean said with a shrug, as he carefully maneuvered his crutches around the shelves and other obstacles that were in his way.

"It was the spirit of some girl?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"And she said something about a bad man?" Bobby asked, as his fingers expertly perused the different books at his disposal to attempt to figure out what was causing the issue.

"Yeah. She wants us to help her, Bobby."

"Well, we're going to try to do that."

"What if—what if the bodies are buried somewhere _in_ the house?"

"That could explain why the spirits are tied to it," Bobby said, as he finally selected a book, and went over to one of the abandoned tables to study it.

"What's that?" Dean asked, looking at the hardcover book in his hand.

"Different town archives all stored in one."

"Wow," Dean said, impressed. "That's pretty awesome."

"I know. It will get the job done a _lot_ faster, hopefully."

Dean nodded, falling silent as he watched Bobby search through the book to find out information on their home, and the kind of things that had gone on there before they had happened upon it. It was always risky to crash a place, but even _riskier_ when they had no idea what kind of history it had.

It was a lesson that he was learning well.

"Find anything?" he asked, after a few minutes, intertwining his hands together.

"Yeah. But the question is _what_."

"What do you mean?"

"The house, back in the 1800s, wasn't even a _house_. It was a mortuary."

Dean shook his head in amazement. "Are you _kidding_?"

"No. They had so many die in there that it wasn't even a joke, but when the original owners died, the management put it up for a sale, and some couple got it."

"What happened then?"

"A whole lot of nothing for about a century. Then the problems started. Lies. Cheating. You name it. But one day, the son of a bitch snapped and killed the entire family, didn't want to be tied down to someone who had ruined his reputation."

"So in his mind," Dean said, slowly connecting the fragmented dots in his mind, "he didn't want to be with someone who was running around spreading rumors."

"Right. He killed her first, and then he killed the kids."

"So who I saw last night-"

"Was her," Bobby said, sliding the book across to him. "The daughter, actually, Kira."

"She was hot," Dean said, looking down at the black and white photograph of the young woman that stared up at him. "How old was she?"

"Fifteen. A little too old for you," Bobby said jokingly.

"I've done it before," Dean joked breezily. "So what about the wife?"

"Well, we don't know. He killed them, but their bodies were never found."

"So they were never buried?"

Bobby shook his head quietly. "Which means that somewhere in the house, they're probably stored somewhere."

Dean nodded. "It explains all the activity, and why no one else has been able to live there."

"Right. The daughter, she was trying to warn you last night."

"And get help for herself."

"That's also true."

* * *

Caleb was glad for Dean that he had the chance to go with Bobby to the library to find out more about the house and what they were dealing with. It wasn't like he was trying to breathe down his neck and be overprotective on _purpose_, but when he factored in the kinds of things that had happened to not only Dean, but to Sam as well, it made the anxiousness that he felt, increase tenfold.

There was too much at stake for him to let his guard down. They had tried that once, and Jim had ended up losing his life because of the false sense of security that he had adopted when nothing had happened for so long.

It had been a fatal mistake that Caleb was determined _not_ to repeat as he watched carefully as Sam played with some of his superman action figures on the table. They were in the kitchen while Caleb made some lunch for himself and Sam.

"Who's the better superhero?" Sam asked Caleb.

"Hmm," Caleb said thoughtfully, as he focused on the grilled-cheese sandwich he was making. "I've always been biased toward Batman."

"Why Batman? Why not someone, you know, cool like Spiderman?" Sam said teasingly.

"Because Batman is cool, dude," Caleb said, turning around to face him. "Spiderman just shoots dorky webs from his hands."

"At least he can swing from building to building," Sam pointed out.

"True," Caleb conceded. "But Batman has it going on."

"So you and Dean say."

"You got it-"

His sentence was cut off when the overhead lights flickered, before going off completely. Staring around at the immediate environment, Caleb turned to look at Sam, who was looking as perplexed as he felt.

"What was that?" Sam asked.

"That's a good question."

Moving toward the small bag of salt that Bobby had brought home one afternoon, Caleb grabbed it, preparing to use it at a seconds notice in case something happened. It was disconcerting to know that he was alone with this, while Dean and Bobby were still gone at the library.

"Is it-"

At that second, a series of dishes that had been stacked on the counter, crashed to the ground. Jumping back, Caleb only had a second to gather his thoughts, before he ran over to where Sam was, making sure to shield him with his body, as he used the salt bag to make a thick circle around the table.

"Sam,"Caleb said, "do _not_ move from this circle. Do you understand?"

Sam nodded, his face ghost-white. "Y-yes."

"I'm going to go get the rock salt gun upstairs. Don't move or try to follow me. Stay where you're safe."

"Okay."

It was heartbreaking to have to leave him when he was so clearly terrified, but there was no other option for Caleb to contemplate as he raced up the stairs two at a time toward his bedroom.

Once he reached it, it was easy to find the gun. He had stored it under the mattress for easy reach, and was glad that he had thought of that instead of digging through his things frantically to find it.

"Okay," he whispered to himself, as he moved toward the door again.

If he could get downstairs with the gun, he would have a much better chance of defending himself and Sam against the spirit—whichever one it was—that was trying to harm them. His foot was almost out the door when it slammed in his face.

"What the hell?" He whispered, panic momentarily setting in before he regained his senses, and tried to open it back up.

It was locked.

On the floor below him, he heard Sam scream.


	35. Chapter 35

The scream did it for Caleb.

That single, heartbreaking scream of terror that came from the child downstairs, as Caleb struggled to pry the door open with his bare hands, before realizing his efforts were fruitless. Reassessing the situation, he stood back and prepared himself to kick the door.

It would be one of the _only_ things he could do to get the door open quickly and be able to run back downstairs with the salt gun, and defend the scared kid. Swallowing a deep breath, he ran toward the door and kicked it with all the upper body strength that he possessed from years of working out, and hunting.

It didn't work.

Scrubbing a frantic hand over his face, he stood back for round two. It wasn't as though the spirits could control the door forever, if they even were _now_. It had to give at _some_ point, and that was what he was counting on, as he aimed another good kick at the frame.

This time, to his astonishment, it _worked_. Not wasting a second to revel in his victory, he made sure the rock salt gun was in his hand, before running back down the stairs two at a time, not even blinking when he almost tripped, such was his concentration on getting back into the kitchen where Sam was trapped.

At least he had the salt ring around him. As long as he didn't obey his instincts that would be telling him to run, he should have no problem with the spirits, no matter how menacing or threatening they appeared to him.

Skidding to a halt in front of the kitchen, his trained eyes assessed the situation before him. Sam, to his relief, was still caught in the salt line that he had drawn around the table. His little body was pressed almost flat against the table, as his horrified eyes swiveled over to his guardian.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" Caleb asked, fighting to keep his voice calm for Sam's sake.

Sam nodded, unable to speak the words necessary to assure his guardian, as he looked over to where the fridge stood. When he followed what he was looking at, Caleb backed up, aiming the gun as he did. The spirit of a man was standing there, observing the scene in front of him, as he took one step foreword, no doubt intending to finish off the people that had invaded his home.

"Stay there, Sam," Caleb said, affording himself a second to look over at Sam and make sure that he understood what he was being told.

To his relief, Sam nodded.

"O—o—okay."

"Good job."

Looking back at the spirit, he knew that this was the one who had been responsible for the murders that had happened in the house. While he didn't know the exact story because Dean and Bobby were still gone figuring it out, he knew enough to know that this was the "bad man" that the woman spirit had been talking about.

When the man stalked closer, Caleb fired off a defensive shot.

It wouldn't do any good—not in the long run—it would only injure him enough to make him go away momentarily. It didn't even do _that_. Seeming to shake it off like a paper-cut, he moved closer to the group of people he had chosen as his next victims.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to do anything as long as he didn't know where the bones of the man were, Caleb carefully stepped over the salt line to where Sam was, and aimed the gun to fire off another shot if he came too close.

The instant that he stepped over the line, Sam pressed himself against him, so relieved he was to have his guardian there to protect them against the spirit that had invaded their lives. His little body was trembling as he hugged Caleb, not willing to let him go for anything in the world.

This was the first time that Sam's life had been in immediate danger because of a spirit or demon, and Caleb could see how terrifying it was for the nine-year-old, as he clung to him.

When the spirit realized where they were, and started in that direction, Caleb grabbed Sam and backed up to the very edges of the salt line, as he lifted his gun for another shot. It wouldn't do much good, not when the demon seemed impervious to the dangerous effects of the rock and salt combination, but he was willing to give it his all.

"They're _mine_," the spirit rasped, as he reached out a gnarled hand to grab the gun from Caleb, but couldn't when he was blocked from stepping over the salt ring.

"What?" Caleb said, feeling dangerously cocky. "That sack of bones that you left upstairs?"

"They're mine," he repeated, a fanatical glint in his dead eyes.

"Sorry, pal," Caleb said, "but your time is up."

Reaching down, he threw a handful of salt toward the spirit. It had its desired effect, as the spirit let out an ear-splitting scream, before vanishing in a mist of white and gray smoke. It wasn't enough to make Caleb feel secure in the fact that it was really gone for good, because it _wasn't_.

That part would come when they found his bones and burned them.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he looked down at Sam. He was still trembling against him, as he looked out over their once peaceful kitchen, which had been reduced to a mess of broken and shattered glass, and spilled food.

"Is—is he gone?" Sam asked uncertainly, as he surveyed the immediate area.

"For right now. Not for long, though," Caleb said, his eyes scanning the area around them in case the spirit tried to mount a surprise attack on them.

"What do we have to do?"

"Salt and burn the bones."

"But where are they?" Sam asked.

"That's a good question. Hopefully Bobby and Dean will be back soon, and they can tell us what we're dealing with."

It was a relief to Caleb that, in Dean's condition, he hadn't had to deal with the terrifying attack that the spirit had mounted on them, but he was anxious for them to get back and divulge what they had managed to pick up at the library.

"I hope they come soon."

"They will," Caleb said, squeezing his shoulder.

Unless their luck was truly horrible, and they spent another hour gone at the library, looking for information on a spirit that had just upped the ante in the most brutal of ways.

"I hope so."

* * *

Bobby and Dean had made great strides in the library. They had managed to learn _who_ had been responsible for the brutal murders, and had been able to figure out a possible motive for why the man had snapped, and had killed his entire family.

In a way, it was disappointing to admit that they had all they needed to return to the questionable safety of the house, and get rid of the spirits that had been terrorizing them. Sighing deeply as he rubbed a hand over his itchy eyes, Dean leaned against the car door as they neared the house.

It had been nice to get out for awhile—even if it was for a research mission. It had been awhile since Dean had been able to enjoy fresh air with his leg the way it was, and the fear that someone would see them and report them.

Even though it had been nice to take the trip, he was anxious to get back to see Caleb and Sam and tell them everything they had managed to scrounge up about the house. At least now they had a way of killing the spirits once and for all, and had a location of their bodies.

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked, catching the tired look in the thirteen-year-old's hazel eyes.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Tired?"

"A little."

"You had a long afternoon."

Dean nodded, not able to deny it. "Are you _sure_ we have all we need to find the spirit's?"

"Yeah."

At least they had the knowledge necessary to find the remains of the spirits, and finish them off so they could continue to stay in that house. It had been the first _real_ place they had stayed at since going on the run, and the idea of leaving it now, was inconceivable.

So far, they had managed to fly under the radar when it concerned the police, and they intended on keeping it that way. As Bobby turned on their street, he tried to feel excitement in the way they had managed to figure all of it out, but he couldn't.

At least not until he had visual _proof_ that they had managed to kill the spirits.

As they pulled into the cracked driveway, he had to contain that part of him that wanted to hop out of the car and run through the doors. He couldn't do that yet, at least not until he had his cast off and had gotten therapy for his leg.

Still, it was maddening as he waited for Bobby to come around and hand him his crutches. Throwing him a grateful look, they walked into the mostly silent house. It wasn't hard to find Sam and Caleb, though.

They were in the kitchen. It was when Dean's eyes flew to the salt ring, that he grew concerned. They only ever used that when there was a serious threat, and by the looks of it, _something_ had happened.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, as he dumped his bag on the table.

"We had another visitor," Caleb said wryly.

"Who?" Bobby asked.

"The one responsible for all this."

Dean nodded, able to guess as much. "Did he hurt you guys?"

"Almost," Caleb said, shaking his head in annoyance. "Locked me in the room when I tried to grab the salt gun, but I kicked it down."

"Good," Bobby said, smudging the salt line with his foot. "We know where the son of a bitch is buried."

"Where?"

"The basement," Dean said, looking sick.

"Let's go."

The spirit wasn't happy at the intrusion. That much was clear when they finally ventured down the cement steps of the basement. The entire room dropped down several degrees, as the occupants drew their arms around one another for warmth.

Once they were actually _in_ the room, it wasn't hard to spot where the cement had been raised a little bit, indicating the burial spot for the people that he had murdered, and where he himself had been laid to rest.

When the lights started flickering, signaling another presence, Dean tried to control the insane pounding of his heart as he helped Bobby dig up the cement with the tools that he had brought down with them.

It was hard work on the best of days, but on the days where he had other things to worry about, it was nearly impossible as he tried to control the anxiety that he felt at thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong with their impromptu salt and burning of the bones.

"Okay," Caleb said, as he handed Bobby the salt and burn supplies once he had exposed the shallow graves that had been dug for the family members. "Remember, Dean, stay back, okay?"

"I know."

"Same goes for you, Sam."

"I know."

Rolling his eyes, Dean watched carefully as Bobby quickly sprinkled the gas on the bones, before lighting a match and throwing it over the remains. It was sad to watch, as the bones immediately caught fire.

Not because they were sending them off to a better place, but because of how they had gotten there. The bones of the man had been among those burned, and while Dean tried to take pleasure in the fact that he would have his own destiny awaiting him, he couldn't.

It was a tragedy all around, and when the man had tried to stop them from doing what they had to do, it wasn't nearly as terrifying as it would have been once, as Caleb shot another round of salt at him.

In the end, the bones had been destroyed.

And the lives that had remained lost and lingering for a century, had been released.


	36. Chapter 36

**Five Weeks Later**

Even though they had successfully cleansed the house of the murderous spirit that had been trapped there, it didn't mean that their nightmares were over. Not by a long shot. The guys (and the kids) had known right from the start, that the house was meant as a temporary respite.

Nothing more; nothing less.

Just because it had been abandoned by whomever had last rented it, didn't mean that the cops (or a new prospective owner) wouldn't come looking at it, and find the small family crashing there. It was something that had always been on the forefront of their minds while they continued to live a somewhat "normal" life in the safety of the walls that guarded them from the outside world.

It wouldn't keep them out if they decided to come _in_—but for the time being—they had been safe from most threats that had sought to destroy them. If it wasn't the humans searching frantically for their guardian, it was the fear of something supernatural slipping through the cracks again.

And while Caleb and Bobby would have _loved_ the idea of staying there permanently, and making a life for themselves with the kids, they knew to be realistic. It wouldn't be possible with the amount of scrutiny they were under from the different forces that wanted them gone.

Sooner or later, someone would connect the dots in that town and report him. It was a reality that Caleb had tried his hardest to prepare himself (and the boys) for. Life on the run hadn't afforded them any perks, and while they had never been spoiled or had the best of anything, they had always had a roof over their heads, and straying from motel to motel room had been a shock for them.

Staying in one place had been a luxury they had missed—and one that they hoped would continue—and something that Caleb and Bobby were cautiously optimistic about when nothing happened for a few weeks, and everything was calm.

"Do you think we can stay here?" Dean asked him one night.

"I don't know. I hope so," he replied.

"But?" Dean prompted, knowing that there was a 'but' somewhere in his sentence.

"_But_," Caleb finished, "sooner or later the cops will find us. It's just a matter of time."

It had been one of the hardest decisions of his life, having to run from the police and the prison that had become his tomb, but it had been done to protect the boys, and it had been done to make sure that their family bonds weren't broken anymore, that they could go on and make sure that the other was safe.

It wasn't an ideal way of living, and the guys fully recognized the danger behind that decision, but also the genius behind it. They had strength in numbers, and that meant strength against the YED that was looking for them, waiting to make Sam part of his twisted demonic army.

"We've managed to survive for _this_ long," Dean pointed out, as he quietly sipped the soup that Bobby had managed to whip up for them.

"True," Caleb conceded, as he sipped his own, the hot liquid searing down his throat. "I guess we'll just have to keep our heads down, and watch out for any of the warning signs."

"I know," Dean said, as he absently rubbed his arm up and down. "It's been nice, though."

"It has."

The incomparable feeling of staying stationary in one place, and not having to worry about where the next meal would come from. It had been something that Caleb wasn't sure he would ever experience again in his lifetime, and it was something that he was glad the kids could have, too.

While they didn't share in the burden of making sure everyone was fed and had shelter, they still knew the stresses of running, and of the very real fear of being discovered by the wrong kinds of people.

It was the kind of life that Caleb and Bobby had done their best to shield the boys from, but had not been entirely successful, through no fault of their own. It was the sadistic and unsympathetic DA that had made living in one place, impossible.

And while they had tried everything to make a life for themselves in that small town they had found themselves in, it hadn't been possible after awhile. The police, acting through a tip someone had given them, had converged upon the house.

Thankful for the small window of time they had been afforded when Bobby had heard about the tip, they had barely managed to escape before the cop cars stormed the place. It had been nice while it had lasted, and while it was disappointing that it had ended, Caleb tried to be grateful for the break they had been given by that house.

Now it was back on the road.

The one small bright side was that Dean's cast had finally come off the day before. It had been a victory that he had waited rather impatiently for, and had finally been gifted with when the dreaded five weeks had finally expired.

He still had limitations on how much he could do with it while it was still so shaky, but he was just glad to finally have the bulky cast off, and have the bones in somewhat working order. The nasty nerve damage that had also been inflicted when the bear trap had sliced through his leg, was the one stumbling block that he was facing.

It made the recovery process a little bit longer, and during times they had to leave a place quickly, it was a hindrance. That was why he needed therapy on his leg to strengthen it, and eliminate as much of the damage as possible.

The doctor had told he and Bobby that the damage was fixable as long as he did strength-building exercises to combat the damage done, and that was what he was trying to do with Caleb, though the progress was slower than he would have liked, because Caleb didn't want to push him too hard too fast.

"You want to do some right now?" Caleb asked, sitting down on the bed that was across from Dean and Sam's.

"You mean therapy?" Dean asked, angling his body around so that he was facing Caleb.

Caleb nodded. "Yeah. We haven't done anything with it today."

"That's because I've been so freakin' tired from all the running and going back and forth."

"I know," Caleb said, his tone softening in sympathy for the kid in front of him. "You want to take a day off?"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head.

That was something that was not even an _option_ for him. He wanted his leg to get better as quickly as possible so he could resume hunting, and be at his strongest in case something unexpected came their way.

Already, he had started walking on the leg again, and while it was still painful and was still unsteady, he was regaining strength in it, and that was the most important thing to him as he mentally prepared himself for the workout ahead.

"Alright," Caleb said, "you know the drill."

"Yeah," Dean said, as he carefully stretched his bad leg out toward Caleb.

"Good. Now press your foot flat against my palm," he instructed, "and push with your leg as hard as you can."

Dean nodded, clenching his teeth in concentration as he slowly pushed his leg toward him, stopping at the point that Caleb indicated to him. Usually he loved the workouts that he and Caleb did with each other, but that was when it was geared toward more of the physical training, and the weaponry.

When it was actual _therapy_ on his leg, that was a different matter altogether. It was frustrating when his leg wouldn't do something that it was normally capable of doing, and that was something he wanted to aim toward.

"Good job. Can you hold it there for a few seconds?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

That was something that Dean had yet to accomplish—even though he had worked toward that goal ever since starting therapy. Whenever he attempted to hold a position with his leg, he usually couldn't do it because of the effort that it took, and the pain that would eventually settle over that limb.

"I can try," Dean said, with a shrug, as he concentrated on the bad leg in front of him.

"Hold it there for about ten-twenty seconds, okay?"

Dean nodded, trying to see past the exhaustion he could already feel settling in, as he tried to keep his leg pressed against Caleb's palm like he had been instructed to do. Because he was trying to push Caleb's hand away with the foot, the toll that it took on his body was a little more.

When he could see that he had successfully done the job that was required of him, he looked over at Caleb for his reaction, and saw nothing but the pride that he felt in him for doing what was required of him.

Caleb had been his sole trainer in all things supernatural related since he had learned the truth about his family. Now that his leg was in a bad bind, he had become his _physical_ trainer in strengthening his leg back up to working order.

"Did I do it?"

"You did. You can drop it back down."

Dean nodded, grateful for the break he was being given. "That was awesome."

"How do you feel?"

"Tired—but good."

"I'll bet. You've been working that leg out and it shows."

"At least now I advanced a little further, right?"

"That's right."

* * *

It had been a long, exciting day for the boys. Between moving to another location to further evade the police, and Dean reaching another tentative milestone in his recovery, they were exhausted. Houston been next on their list of places to go, and when they had settled into their one room hideout, the boys had both collapsed.

Dean, from the exhaustion of moving, and the small victory he had made with his leg.

And Sam from the excitement of everything.

Their beds had quickly become their best friends as they laid their tired bodies down to rest. Dean fell asleep almost instantly, as his body turned over on its side, desperate for some much needed comfort after the long car ride that day.

Sam, while usually the first one asleep, tossed and turned until he was finally able to drift off. It hadn't been easy to adjust to being on the run, to losing his friends and home all in one day, but he had managed it so far.

The one thing that truly mattered to him, had been being able to be reunited with Caleb after his successful prison breakout. Trying not to let the negative overrule the positive, he finally was able to drift off.

"Hello, Sammy."

His eyes flying open of their own accord, he backed up against the flimsy headboard. It was the last person or demon he wanted to see, but it was the one that was standing at the foot of his bed, as though he belonged there.

"Yellow-Eyes."

* * *

_Well...coming into the home stretch with this one. Would you guys read more? I got some more ideas for stories in this timeline, and a prequel that I mentioned earlier, I think. Let me know:) _


	37. Chapter 37

Escape was an impossible. The smirking demon had made sure of that when he sat himself on the edge of Sam's bed, barring any of his intended escape routes as he backed up as much as he could against the shaky headboard that the motel had provided for him.

It had been awhile since Yellow-Eyes had visited him in his mind, and while it had been a welcome relief _not_ to have to worry about it when he already had so many other things to occupy his mind, it had been confusing, making him wonder what he was planning, and now he knew.

He had been waiting for the right time to visit him—and he had finally chosen one. That fact didn't comfort Sam at all, who had no way of yelling out to his guardians or brother to alert them to the fact that there was another intruder in their motel room.

Swallowing back the roll of nausea that he could feel collecting in the back of his throat, he forced himself to keep his eyes focused squarely on the cruel demon in front of him. This was the same one who had killed his mother in cold blood, and then had done the exact same thing to his guardian, to Jim.

And then kidnapped him.

Tortured him.

And forced him to do a whole variety of sick acts that he would have paid anything to have forgotten once he had been rescued, and the entire nightmare was done and over with. But it wasn't that easy. Even though he had remained safe with his family, the nightmares from his terrifying week with YED, had remained in his heart.

And looking at him now, Sam wished that he would leave them alone, wished that he hadn't picked him for some demonic army. It was already bad enough that he had to leave his home, and his school and friends, and then to have YED intrude on their lives again, was the last thing either of them needed or wanted.

"What—what do you _want_?" he demanded, fighting to keep his voice even so he wouldn't give away the fear that he could feel clawing at his heart.

"You already know, Sammy boy."

"Don't call me that," Sam said, finding some of his forgotten bravery.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the demon said, smiling sadistically. "That's the name that Caleb calls you, right?"

"Yes," Sam said, squaring his shoulders resolutely. "And only _he_ calls me that. No one else."

"Well, you know what, sport? Imagine if you choose _not_ to fulfill your destiny-"

"What _destiny_?" Sam said with a scoff.

"As part of my army that will rise Lucifer."

"The devil-"

"Who has been locked in his cage for centuries," the demon said. "The whole story is nothing but a bore, but that's what I need _you_ for, tiger."

"To help you-"

"To help me raise him."

Sam shook his head, feeling the corners of his eyes pinch with the incoming tears that he could feel begin to announce their presence, and he hated it. He hated the powerless feeling crying gave him, especially in the presence of someone that he considered to be very dangerous.

"N—no," Sam said, shaking his head, well aware of the consequences his refusal could have on he and his family, but there was no way he would willingly take part in raising the devil from whatever prison he had been forced into.

"No?" The demon asked, tilting an eyebrow in question. "No _what_?"

"No. I am _not_ helping you."

"Well," YED said, with an exaggerated sigh, as he looked over the room at large, and at the three other people that were sleeping in it. "Then tell me, Sammy, who should I kill next?"

"_What_?" Sam said, his eyes widening in horror at the implication behind his cruel words.

"Should I disembowel Caleb?" he asked, looking over at the hunter's sleeping form. "Or should I kill Bobby? Or even your big brother? Keep in mind, they mean _nothing_ to me, but if it gets the message across-"

"D—don't hurt them!" Sam cried, swallowing back the monstrous-size lump in the back of his throat. "Please!"

"I won't have to. Not unless you refuse me, and turn your back on the plans that I set in store for you before you were even a _thought_ in anyone's mind."

Sam shook his head, feeling his entire body tremble with the dizzying amount of information that the demon was giving him. He knew that it had been too good to be true, that the demon's continued absence from their lives was too good to be true.

It was only a ploy on his part to make sure he caught Sam at a weak moment—and he had. The amount of pain and indecision was clear on the nine-year-old's face, as he contemplated an almost impossible choice.

Either go against every single moral that he had ever been taught about good and evil, and help raise the devil from his prison, or refuse and risk losing his entire family because of it.

Caleb and Bobby were the only guardians that he had left. They were the ones who had picked up the pieces that Jim's death had left them with, and had created something good again. Dean was his big brother, the one person in the world besides his guardians, that he could talk with about anything, and share inside jokes with, and have it be fun.

Either way he would be faced with losing that.

If he went against his family and decided to help the devil, he would lose them forever.

If he refused to help YED in his sick mission, he would most likely carry out his threats of killing them to prove a point. It made Sam sick thinking about all the what-ifs that he was being faced with, as he looked around at his family, and the choice that he was being forced to make.

"I...I...I can't," Sam said, choking back a sob. "They're my family! You can't kill them. Please, don't do this. Find someone else!"

The demon shook his head, smirking as though seeing the pain on his face was the most entertaining thing he had seen all night. Even though he had been taught to fear demons, and to recognize them for the soulless beings that they were, it was still shocking to see just how cruel and heartless they could be.

Especially this one.

The one who had been responsible for so much heartache in his life. Being in the same room as him, was enough to make Sam's entire body freeze, but he forced himself to remain upright as he spoke with him, intent on getting their discussion over with as quickly as possible.

"That's very unfortunate," YED said. "I'll tell what I'll do, since I'm in a generous mood. I'll give you three days to decide what to do. If you decide against me, someone else pays the price. If you decide to stay with me and rise up to your destiny, your family will be spared."

Sam nodded, beyond words.

Grateful when the demon finally vanished and he was left alone with his tormented thoughts, he had a split second to decide what to do, before he left the bed that he shared with Dean, and went over to Caleb.

Even though the threats that the YED had made, were still fresh in his mind, he knew that he couldn't keep something this big from them. It was _their_ lives that the demon was threatening if he didn't comply with his ridiculous demands.

Swallowing back the roll of vomit that he could feel coming up after his terrifying conversation with the demon, he gently tapped Caleb's shoulder, trying to induce some amount of awareness in his guardian so he could share with him what he had learned.

"Caleb," Sam whispered, continuing to tap him. "Wake up. Come on."

It only took a few seconds for him to become conscious again, and once he did, Sam could see the concern in his kind eyes, as he quickly assessed the situation in the room, and while realizing that there was no immediate danger, it was apparent that something _had_ happened.

"Sammy," he said, washing a hand over his face. "What's wrong, buddy?"

"I—I saw something."

"What?" Caleb demanded, as he sat up straighter in bed.

"I saw," Sam said, as he swallowed thickly. "I saw Yellow-Eyes."

From the look on Caleb's face, Sam knew that he had said the one thing that would get him his immediate attention, as he switched on the light on the nightstand next to him. So far, YED had seemed to leave them alone, but apparently their streak of good luck when it concerned that, had ended.

"Did he hurt you?" Caleb asked, as his eyes automatically scanned the boy in front of him for any immediate injuries.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head, as he climbed in next to Caleb, wanting the comfort and security that his presence brought to him, as he tried hard to control the influx of tears that had been born out of the fear of losing he or Bobby or even his brother.

"What did he say to you?" Caleb asked, as he turned over on his side to face Sam.

It was clear that whatever had been said between the two of them, had scared him greatly, and while he didn't want to pry him for information he might not be ready to give up, he knew that he didn't have much of a choice if he wanted to be prepared for any attack the demon might launch at them.

"Nothing," Sam said, not able to control the tears as they made a quick trail down his face, "but he said that—that if I didn't help him, he would kill you."

"He said that to you?" Caleb asked gently.

Sam nodded. "Yes. If I didn't help him do what he wanted me to do, he would kill you and Bobby, and even Dean."

Caleb shook his head, pulling the frightened child close. "It's okay, Sammy, it's going to be okay."

"How?"

"I don't know," Caleb admitted, "but that demon has never been able to get the upper hand for too long, right?"

Sam nodded. "N—No."

No matter how bad the situation got, the demon had never been able to keep the advantage for too long. Whether it was killing Jim, or kidnapping Sam, it had never been able to keep them down and out for long. It was only a matter of finding the correct tools, and utilizing their intelligence to outsmart him.

"What plans did he say he had for you?"

"He said that he wanted me to help him get the devil out."

That was new—Caleb and Bobby had known that the demon had plans for Sam—ones that they had no clue how to even process, but they had no idea that the plan involved Sam setting the devil free.

"Out of what?"

"Out of some prison that he's been locked in."

"And if you didn't-"

"Then he would kill you."

Caleb shook his head. "Nothing will _ever_ get me, Sammy."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I _can_," Caleb replied firmly, as he smiled softly.

"I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose Dean or Bobby."

"And you won't. Whether we have to risk exposure and go back to the safe house, or if we keep doing what we've been doing. It will work out. Somehow."

The "somehow" was what Caleb was most concerned about. It was one thing to plan something big, and then actually follow up on it. The idea of going back to the safe house was the only one that even remotely made sense to him.

The walls that bordered the safe house made it impossible for the demon to break through. Iron surrounded it, devil traps were in every single room, and salt bags were placed everywhere for quick and easy reach in case the impossible happened.

It would be their only escape from an evil that had haunted them for years—but the very real risk of exposure was also something that Caleb was considering. The house was located in the backwoods area of South Dakota.

The police would be patrolling the area, looking for him and for Bobby. Their faces would be well recognizable to the citizens there. If they stayed within the walls of the house, and the small town that surrounded it, they might stand a chance, but only a small one.

"Not with those stupid police."

"Even with them," Caleb said, rolling his eyes. "C'mon, Sam. They haven't been smart enough to figure out how to keep me behind bars. Do you really think they'll figure out how to find us and drag us back?"

Sam didn't have a counter-argument against that logic, because it was true. The cops had never been able to find a way to keep them apart, and even though they tried, Caleb and the guys always found a way around it.

"So are we going?"

"We'll talk about it in the morning."

"Okay."


	38. Chapter 38

Despite the fact that Caleb had promised they would discuss their options the next morning, it was hard to wait that long for the first rays of sun to break through their small motel room. The fact that YED had chosen _that_ time to come and have a late night chat with Sam, was very troubling.

When the demon had neglected to come to Sam for months, the guys had fallen into a false sense of security, and had believed that things would be okay on that front, that the demon had found some other family to torment with his ludicrous plan of freeing the devil from his cage.

They had been wrong.

The demon had made his move again—and cast a new shadow of doubt over the small family who were struggling _just_ to make it from day to day—without the added weight of fretting over whether or not the kids would be safe from his sadistic and cruel ways.

They had options.

They could leave the questionable safety of the motel room, and make a run back to Sioux Falls and stay at the safe house that had become a fortress to them in times of need like right then, but then they also ran the extremely probable risk of someone seeing them and reporting them to the police.

It was exhausting contemplating all of their options and how each one could lead to a new disaster that they would be ill-equipped to handle. If they allowed themselves to test the waters and stay on the run, they would be putting the boys in danger by leaving them unprotected.

If they went back to the safe house where they were guaranteed protection against the demon, they ran the risk of the police force in that town, finding them and dragging Caleb out in handcuffs to face more retribution by a justice system that had no idea what they were even talking about.

Trying to put it out of his head until morning, he focused his attention on the terrified child next to him. Sam had refused to return to the bed he shared with Dean, and instead had opted to stay with the comfort that Caleb brought him, and he couldn't blame him.

The kid had been through much more than any child his age should have to go through—and this was one of those things that had the power of pushing him over the edge if he let it. Instead, Sam had done the right thing, and had sought help immediately.

Caleb was proud of him for that, even though Sam was still clearly dealing with the aftermath of the impromptu visit, and the subsequent decision that he had made to tell Caleb about the threats the demon had made against their family.

For the most part, after he had finished confiding in Caleb what the demon had said to him, Sam had managed to calm down, even though the rest that he had tried to obtain was fruitless and often fraught with nervousness, as though he was expecting the demon to return at any minute.

When Caleb turned over and looked at the clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was nearing five in the morning. At least he only had a little bit of time before the others woke up, and he and Sam could fill them in on everything they had missed during the night.

Drawing his attention away from the clock when Sam whimpered, obviously having had a nightmare or a scary thought, Caleb rubbed his back soothingly. It had always worked before when Sam was upset about something, or just needed the extra comfort, and it worked this time, too, as his tears eventually dried, leaving only his shakes as proof that he was still awake, still processing everything that had happened.

"It's okay, Sammy," Caleb said gently. "You're safe. He's not going to get you."

"I'm s—scared," Sam whispered tearfully, as he turned over on his other side toward Caleb.

"I know," Caleb whispered soothingly. "I'm right here. You're not going anywhere, and neither am I."

At least he could assure Sam of that one thing. Whether it was staying in one place and braving the brutal police force, or staying nomadic and running the risk of the demon finding them again, he would always be there with the kids if at all possible.

While he couldn't account for what would happen if the cops found him and arrested him again, he would do everything in his power to prevent that from happening. It wasn't a complete comfort to either of the kids, but at least they could be promised that he would fight with everything he had in him to be there with them, and to love them unconditionally like he had done, and have the incredible relationship the three (now four) of them shared.

"What if," Sam hiccuped, as he raised his tired hand to wipe more of the tears away. "What if he comes back?"

"Then I'm right here. Even if I can't see him the way you do, at least you'll be right here when you wake up from that again."

Sam nodded, trying as hard as he could to take comfort in those words. It did little to soothe him when he was reminded of the choice that he had to make, but at least he was promised security in the fact that he knew Caleb and Bobby would fight to the death to make sure he was saved, and that was what mattered the _most_ to him.

"I don't want him to kill you, or Bobby or Dean."

"He won't, Sam," Caleb promised, shaking his head. "Someway, somehow, we'll get around that. Evil, you know, can never win for _too_ long, right?"

Sam nodded, remembering the lessons that he had been taught nearly his entire life about the difference between good and evil, and how good always trumped evil in the end. It was a good lesson, and one that had tested him on a few occasions.

"I know. He told me something else, too."

"Like what?" Caleb asked, turning his head around to face the child.

"He said that I had three days to decide," Sam said, recalling the words that the demon had spoken to him right before he had allowed him to wake up. "If I go with him, you'll be spared. If I decide _against_ him, he'll kill you all to send a _message_."

Caleb was silent as he processed the words that Sam had just spoken to him. Demons never made things easy on them, but this one took the cake for that. It was impossible to him that a kid that he adored, was being given the choice of whether or not to stay with them and risk losing them, or go _against_ them and have all of them live.

It was cruel.

It was something that made Caleb positively infuriated.

Sam, at nine, should have never been faced with a choice so huge like this one. It wasn't fair that he had to live with the fear of deciding, and then have to live with whatever choice he presented to the demon when the time came.

"Sam, you know that we'll protect you. You don't _have_ to do what he says," Caleb said, his voice tight as he tried desperately to control it so he wouldn't freak Sam out any more than he already was. "It will be okay."

Sam shook his head. "How?"

"I don't know. But it _will_ be. You don't have to do anything with that demon. Bobby and I will make sure of that. We'll protect you from this."

"Where are we going to go?" Sam asked.

"Somewhere safe."

If the only recourse was going back to the safe house, Caleb knew they would do it. If the end result was being sent back to prison, at least he would be assured that the boys would be safe, and that Dawn would do everything she could to make sure that Bobby was allowed to keep custody.

"But what if," Sam sniffled. "What if they take you back to prison?"

Caleb had spent three months behind bars while he awaited a trial that had eventually resulted in his conviction on the most serious charge of kidnapping a minor. Although Dawn had fought hard for his sentence to be light, he had been sentenced to do two years behind bars in the state prison.

The idea of going back to that was inconceivable to him. It wasn't just because he was concerned for himself, but for the boys who would be faced with losing yet another vital person to their lives.

"Well," Caleb said softly, "we're going to have to come to that when and _if_ it actually happens. Right now, we don't know if it will come to that or not."

And if it did, Caleb held no compunctions about staging another breakout, even though the next one would surely be more difficult than the first one since the guards would be made well aware of his first one.

"Will you break out again?"

"Probably," Caleb said. "I don't want to have to do that again, but I will if I have to."

"Okay," Sam said uncertainly, as though he was afraid of letting the issue go.

"I'll tell you what. You try to go back to sleep for a little while, and when we're ready to talk about it with everyone else, we can throw all our concerns out there, then."

Sam nodded, already closing his eyes. "Okay."

"Sleep tight, kiddo."

* * *

Even though he tried, Caleb couldn't achieve the level of sleep that he had previously been enjoying before the nightmare with the YED had happened. It had been too much to assume that they had been safe from that demon, finally, and he had been right. The demon had once again invaded their lives, and forced them into the position of choosing a new plan that could wreak catastrophic results on their lives.

Swiping a hand over his face once the first, feeble rays of light filtered in through the heavily curtained windows, he sighed, looking over at the bed that Dean now occupied alone. Sam had opted to sleep in Caleb's after the visit from the demon.

One look at Sam, confirmed that he was still heavily in the throes of sleep. Caleb was glad. The kid had been terrified for hours after he had come to him, and had only gotten to sleep an hour or two before.

Coffee was the first order of business, and luckily the room they had been given had a mini—kitchenette where he could get his coffee without risking exposure by going down to the cafe across the street.

Allowing the searing hot liquid to climb down his throat, he observed the room at large. He could see that Dean was about to wake from his slumber, and no doubt would be full of questions as to why his brother had vacated their bed.

Bobby was still out—his soft snores filling the otherwise quiet room.

The enormity of what they had to decide that morning, was staggering, but Caleb knew they didn't have another option. Not when the demon was actually going so far as to put them on a time limit.

"Hey," Dean said, rolling over onto his back, before shakily sitting up, still clearly in the very early stages of waking up.

"Hey, dude. Coffee?" he asked, with a smirk.

"Sure," Dean said, as he carefully stood up from the low bed.

Though he wasn't medically required to use the crutches as long as he was complying with therapy, there were times that he still needed them to steady himself, but he avoided resorting to them whenever possible.

"How's your leg?" Caleb asked, directing his gaze to his bad one.

"Alright. It's always a little stiff in the mornings."

"I bet it is. You want to do more therapy this morning?"

"Sure. Then some more this afternoon?"

"Sounds good."

Dean had been the driving force behind his therapy—always pushing the envelope in his hurry to get back to the way he was before—even though Caleb tried his hardest to slow him down and not have him accidentally overdo it.

"Why did Sam switch over to your bed?" Dean asked, turning his head to look at his still unconscious little brother, as he wrapped himself more securely in the warm covers.

Caleb hesitated, knowing that the knowledge the demon had been back in their lives last night, would only serve to upset him, but also realizing that it would be futile to lie to him. "Your brother had a..._visitor_ last night."

"Who?" Dean asked, tilting an eyebrow up in question.

"Um-"

There was no easy way to inform Dean that his brother had been visited by the one demon that had been the source of so much pain for them. Especially when he was reminded of the decision that Sam had to make.

"Caleb, what is it?" Dean asked, shakily accepting the cup of coffee that Caleb handed to him. "Tell me."

"Yellow-Eyes. He was here last night. Or," he altered, "in Sam's head."

The reaction to that horrifying news was instantaneous for Dean. Choking a little on the drink that he had already taken from the scalding beverage, he looked back at his brother and then at Caleb in stunned horror.

"He was _here_?" Dean said quietly, tears brimming the corners of his eyes before he hastily wiped them away.

"Yeah," Caleb said with a nod, sighing deeply. "Now we have to make a decision."

"What kind of decision?"

"If we keep doing what we've been doing, or if we risk a lot and go back to the safe house."

Dean shook his head at the unfairness of all of this. It wasn't fair that this demon had to come back into their lives, and put them in danger again. It wasn't fair that they would have to risk people seeing them and reporting them to the police if they decided to risk it and go back to the safe house.

"So what do we do?"

"We have to talk to Bobby when he wakes up."

* * *

The decision they had to made, was not an easy one. Either option presented its own challenges, and that was what Caleb couldn't wrap his mind around, as he and Bobby sat down with the boys once they were both awake.

If they stayed and continued moving around, the demon would find them again, just like he had last night. Then what? He would force Sam to make an impossible decision that, either way, would result in him losing his family.

And if they ran, the chances of the police finding them, was extremely probable. There was no perfect solution, no easy way out of a nightmare that had haunted them for months.

"So what does everyone think?" Caleb asked, looking around at Bobby, and then at the two kids.

"Well," Dean said, "I know that we can't stay here and let that son of a bitch try to hurt us, or take Sam again."

Caleb nodded, considering his input. "True. So you think we should go?"

Dean nodded. "I do. But then we run the risk of those cops finding you, and hauling your ass back to prison, and that's not even an option anymore."

Dean had no idea how he had survived it when Caleb had been locked up for that long a few months back, but he knew that they couldn't go through that pain and the separation anymore. It was too hard emotionally, and it was too hard physically, too.

"No, it's not," Caleb agreed, "but we have to decide which is the more pressing issue. Me being arrested, or Sam possibly being taken again. We can't let that happen, and there's no way he's going to decide something so huge."

"But if I don't-" Sam began, ready to list off all the horrifying things the demon would do to them if he refused to follow him in his sick plan.

"We know," Bobby said, his tone softening at the look on his face, "but you're not going to be faced with making that choice alone. I don't think we have a choice but to try the safe house."

Caleb nodded. "I know we don't."

"People don't really know where it is," Dean pointed out. "But sooner or later we'd have to go into town and get supplies."

"That's the issue," Caleb said, as he balanced his foot on the table.

"Well, they're not looking at me as much as they are looking at you," Bobby said, "I could make a sweep and be able to get back."

Caleb nodded. "They could still look at you as the guy who might know where the escaped convict is hiding out."

"Well, they don't have any proof."

"Apparently that hasn't crossed their idiotic brains yet," Caleb said, laughing once.

"Do they need proof?" Dean asked, following the conversation.

"Well, yes," Caleb said, "but since when has lack of proof stopped them before?"

No one could argue with that.

"So do we go?" Dean asked. "I vote yes."

"I don't think we have a choice," Caleb said.

"I don't either," Bobby said.

"I think we should," Sam said.


	39. Chapter 39

Caleb tried to ignore the searing hot sun as it beat down on his face as he drove through the late afternoon rush hour traffic, tapping his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as he tried to combat the other vehicles that were jockeying for a position on the freeway to get back home after their respective jobs had ended.

It was a position that Caleb had been in once before when he had his construction job in Minnesota, and had to constantly battle for a good spot to get back home in the evening. Now, instead of the patience that he usually felt while he was waiting, he could only feel desperation as he tried to keep his cool through all this.

They had to pull off the freeway and switch to another one in order to connect to South Dakota. They had been driving for most of the day, and while the drive had been a peaceful (and tense) one, Caleb was ready for it end, and to get to the safety of the safe house.

It was the only place that guaranteed them safety from the cruelty of the YED—it wasn't a question anymore to test the waters and let him take someone else from their lives—like he had with Jim. Just thinking about what the demon had done to him, had been enough cause to pack up their supply of meager belongings and hit the road.

Even going somewhere safe like the safe house, was fraught full of potential nightmares. The citizens of Sioux Falls would recognize their faces, and would probably end up calling the police with the information that they had, and then what?

They would either have to make a run for it again, or face whatever prosecution they would have to face for running from law enforcement. Each choice was a no-win situation. Each choice had the power of bringing all of them down again.

It was with those thoughts running through his brain, that Caleb gratefully got back on the freeway once the traffic thinned out, allowing him the security that he usually felt while traveling on the highway.

He was following Bobby in his car—while the older hunter drove ahead of them in his truck. It gave Caleb a rare sense of peace to know that he wasn't alone in the running like he was before, when he had been arrested for the kidnapping and abuse charges.

Turning his head briefly to look back at Sam, he saw nothing but the same, quiet bravery as Sam calmly stared out the window at all the passing cars and farms. Smiling softly, he looked over at the passenger side at Dean.

Ever since he had gotten the cast off his leg a week ago, he had reclaimed his rightful place in the front seat. Sam didn't mind, he liked the option of stretching his legs out and getting the sleep that had abandoned him for one reason or another.

"How are you guys doing?" he asked, reaching down to put on his dark sunglasses to protect his eyes from the harsh sunlight.

"Good," Sam replied noncommittally, as he changed his position.

"Awesome. You getting bored yet?" Caleb asked with a grin.

It had been a shock for both of the boys to embrace a life on the run, and the endless amount of hours that they had to log in the car in order to further evade the authorities. So far, they had both handled the pressure like pros.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head, as he laid his head against the door.

"Good. What about you, kiddo?" he asked, turning his attention to the teen next to him.

"I'm good," Dean replied, as he carefully stretched out his bad leg.

It was hard to be in the car and not have the range of movement that he was usually used to having with his leg while he worked to getting it back to full working mode. It wasn't anything that he could have helped, though, and was just looking foreword to getting back in the swing of things once they got to the safe house.

"What about your leg?"

"It's alright," Dean said, with a shrug. "A little stiff."

"Right," Caleb said, smiling softly. "We'll work with it when we get there."

"I know. It's fine."

"Okay."

"How long should it be?" Sam piped up from the backseat.

"About an hour," Caleb said, checking the time on the clock on the radio.

"Okay."

"Tired?"

"A little," Sam admitted.

"Try to go to sleep. You had a _long_ night last night."

The nighttime visit that the YED had paid to him, was the whole reason they were making a dash back to the safe house. It was the only place they would be safe from the harmful influence of the demon, and figure out a plan of finally getting rid of him for _good_.

"I will when we get there."

"Alright," Caleb said with a smile.

Both boys had a horrible time falling asleep in the car—and Caleb knew that it was because they were so used to sleeping in actual _beds_. It would take them time to get used to something different, and he hoped that the change wouldn't have to continue for much longer.

"How long are we going to stay here?" Dean asked, as they passed the cheery sign welcoming them to the state.

"As long as we can," Caleb said, as he focused his attention on driving, and on following Bobby as he expertly weaved his truck through the chaotic traffic.

No one knew how long that would turn out to be—especially with the knowledge that the police could come knocking on their door at any time. It wasn't a comforting thought, but a reality that they had to face so they could be prepared for it if it came.

"What about the cops?"

"We'll deal with them if and when they pop up."

"Before or _after_ they take you again?" Dean asked, turning away from Caleb so he wouldn't see how upset he was starting to become.

Out of everyone, Caleb knew how devastated Dean had been when he had been forced away from them for those few months he had been in jail, and while there was nothing he could do to undo the damage that it had caused him, he wanted to reassure him that he would do everything in his power to prevent history from repeating itself.

"Dean, that's probably not going to happen again."

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't," Caleb conceded, "but I can promise you that I'll do everything in my power to prevent it from happening again."

Dean nodded, finally feeling strong enough within himself to face Caleb again. "I know you will, but I just can't stand the idea of this family being apart like that again."

"I can't either," Caleb said, shaking his head. "I would have had you guys visit me, but you don't have any idea what that would have done to your noggins."

Though the time apart from the boys had been absolutely gut—wrenching, it wouldn't have compared to having them see him in restraints while they visited with each other. The fact that they had been allowed regular phone conversations, had been the one salvation for all of them during that horrible period.

"It still _sucked_," Dean said, not bothering to deny the truthfulness of Caleb's statement.

"I know it did."

* * *

Grateful once they reached the relative peacefulness of the safe house, Caleb tried to allow himself the chance to breathe as he and Bobby unpacked their things from both their cars, and carried it into the spacious, ranch-style home.

To the casual observer, it appeared to be nothing special, but the guys knew that it housed everything they needed to successfully defend themselves against various forms of the supernatural out there. Devil traps in every room, nearly every fixture made of iron, and salt bags at the ready in the unforeseen event that a demon _actually_ managed to slip through the heavily guarded walls.

It was a paradise, and one that the boys, despite the growing unease about exposing themselves, felt lucky to be back in. There, they would be promised total safety from the demon, no matter what threats he intended on carrying out.

"Does it feel good to be back?" Bobby asked, as he watched the boys quietly walk from room to room, exploring the place again, and also making sure that no one was hiding in the closets.

"Yeah," Dean said, nodding, as he settled himself at the kitchen table. "It does."

The place was secluded enough that it would be difficult for the police to find them unless the residents around the area, gave them specific instructions. It was a comfort, and it was something that the boys needed for as long as they could get it.

"I bet it beats sleeping in the motel rooms," Caleb remarked, as he fixed the boys some dinner.

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, teasingly rolling his eyes.

"Sam, what do you like about being back here?" Caleb asked.

"I like that we can have our own rooms again."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that's a big one."

The lack of privacy had been one aspect of their new life that the boys had struggled with. Before, they had been used to having their own space to do with it whatever they wanted, and having to give that up had been something they had had to get used to.

"So what now?" Bobby asked.

"Now we keep our heads down," Caleb said, "and we try to see what we can dig up about the demon, if anything."

"Sounds good."


	40. Chapter 40

**Epilogue**

Finding information on the demon proved much harder said than done. The only information they had at their disposal was the murders that happened before and after Dean and Sam's mother died. The trail started a few states over, and ended in Lawrence.

No one had heard from the demon since.

It was exhausting trying to find intel on the demon when it clearly didn't _want_ to be found yet. Pouring over book after book proved useless in the guys' fruitless search for answers, ones that had haunted them for years, and ones that they were desperate to have now that there was a serious bounty over Sam's head.

At least they had the security in knowing that they were safe at the safe house. So far, even though that could change at any second, the cops hadn't come pounding on their door. Caleb tried to take some measure of comfort from that, though it was difficult when he had been so hurt and betrayed by the police in recent years.

For the most part, he tried to keep his attitude light and positive for the boys, who were depending on he and Bobby to let them know through every touch and word that things were okay, that they were _safe_.

Dean had progressed wonderfully on the therapy he had to do with his leg—so far he had managed to stay off the crutches—which had been his goal all along, and had instead worked his leg extra hard to account for all the time he had spent off of it.

"You think I can get back into hunting?" he asked one night, after he had finished another successful round of therapy, which had included performing a series of low-intensity kicks.

"How about we take this one day at a time?" Caleb suggested, clearly not as enthralled with the idea as Dean was.

For Caleb, it had been such a huge shock to have seen Dean in such a critical position when the bear trap had snagged his leg, that he would have been quite happy if Dean never saw another hunt again, but he knew that he could only keep that part of the life away from him for so long, before he had to get back in.

"It's been, what, over a month since my injury?" Dean said, mentally calculating the time that had gone by since his devastating injury. "My cast is off, the damage in my leg is better."

"It's _better_," Caleb admitted, "but you need to be more than better before you go on those types of jobs again."

"Caleb," Dean said, with a hint of a whine in his voice. "All I do is sit around here-"

"That's not true. You help Sam with his homework, and then when Bobby needs help with research, you lend a hand."

"It's not the same as hunting."

"I know, but my goal is to keep you _alive_, and that won't happen if you go in unprepared and without your leg being a hundred percent."

"Whatever," Dean said, clearly not happy with the fact that he was being held back from doing something that he _loved_ to do. "Have you found anything out about Yellow-Eyes?"

"Not yet. We're looking though," Caleb assured him. "We have the other patterns to go on, and we have what happened to us, too. We just have to connect it somehow, make it all make sense."

That was the hardest part—finding a trail that connected them to the demon—and more importantly, a way of killing it for good. It would prove to be the ultimate justice not only for them, and the lives that had been lost to them, but for the other people out there who had gone through some of the same hell.

"I know. Do you really think Sam will be safe here?"

The whole reason they had made the dangerous travel back to the safe house so that the demon would have a harder time of reaching Sam. Even if he could, he would have no way of physically carrying out his threats like he had told Sam he intended on doing.

"I do. This place is made of iron, and the demon can't cross over stuff like that."

"I know, it still makes me nervous."

"I know the feeling," Caleb said, with a small smile.

"What about stuff on the _human_ front?"

Even though nothing had happened yet, Dean still lived with the constant fear of the cops showing up and dragging Caleb out. It hadn't happened yet, but it was still a thought that had kept him up at night, worrying endlessly that something _else_ would happen.

"No word so far. I talked to Dawn this morning, and she said that as far as she knew, they were looking around here, but they hadn't found anything to link them to this place."

"But it could happen-"

"It _might_," Caleb said, catching the horrified look on his face, and rushing to reassure him, "but you know, if it does, we'll find a way out of it."

"Yeah, but what if they make it impossible for you to escape again?" Dean pointed out.

Caleb had managed to stage a miraculous prison breakout with the help of one of Bobby's friends, but the odds of it being that easy again, would be slim to none.

"It won't be impossible. We'll get someone on the inside again, and do it all over again, it will just be trickier if other people are paying closer attention."

"I know. That's what I'm worried about."

"Don't. It's okay."

And it was.

For right then, they were completely safe.

In a world that was constantly changing and shifting around them, that meant a lot. Caleb couldn't account for what would happen in the future, especially if the most probable scenario was carried out and the cops found them, but he could rest easy knowing that even if he was arrested again, and even if he was apart from the boys again, they would always find a way back to each other.

Even if it took weeks.

Even if it took months.

They still had the incredible bond they all shared as a family.

A family that had seen the cruelest parts of the world, but had also seen the most beautiful.

A family that continued to thrive and be happy despite all the wrongs that had been committed against them.

DNA didn't always make a family—people that honestly cared and loved one another—did.

Though the people that had chosen to be there for Sam and Dean through better or worse, weren't biological family, they were the closest thing that the two boys had ever known, and if they were honestly given a choice, they knew they wouldn't change a thing.

And in the coming weeks and months, they would need that. As danger of the human form was about to come knocking on their door again, the boys held no doubt that they were loved, that if their guardian was taken away again, they would find a way back to each other.

* * *

_Kind of a cliffhanger-ish ending to this story! Yes, this is the final chapter for "Trough Trial, and Error." _

_I know I don't have to say it again, but I will: thank you to each and every person who reviewed, followed and favorited this story. It means the world to me that people are with me on this crazy, incredible journey with these awesome Winchesters (and I do include Caleb and Bobby when I say "Winchesters"). _

_It's been such an awesome writing experience, and I can't wish to dish out more as time (and my muse) permits. Depending on the direction my head goes, I'll either post the prequel I've been having ideas for that will be based outside of this general timeline, or publish the sequel to this one that's more in the same timeline that we've established._

_Thank you so much!_

_-Casey_

_4/16/14_


End file.
